Sticks And Stones
by Eniko151
Summary: 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.' Wrong. Both hurt. As Pietro Maximoff is about to find out. After the battle with Ultron he thought, he hoped, his pain had finished. But, when being trained to fight properly by a shield agent, he's about to find out just how horrible some people can be.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- Okay, quick explanation (not about the plot or anything). This was a request I had from a guest reviewer who's name I've forgotten, so if you're reading this 'Hi'. Sorry I took ages to post this but it was harder to write than I'd anticipated (I didn't realise people wanted me to write it so much :D). Anyway, this one probably won't be a very long (couple-several chapters) but I hope you guys enjoy it.**

* * *

"Nice to see you up Maximoff."

Pietro looked over his shoulder to see Nicholas Fury stride into the room. He was standing in a room in the helicarrier, looking through a window over the clouds. Fury had insisted all the Avengers stay there after the battle with Ultron. Partly to get away from the reporters and the news and all the people blaming them for civilians deaths. Mainly because Pietro had been fatally wounded in the battle and needed urgent medical care. Thanks to his hyper metabolism, however, he had survived and quickly healed his injuries.

"Nice to be up." Pietro muttered with a slight incline of his head.

"Have the doctors discharged you?" Fury asked, halting beside him. "Or have you discharged yourself."

"Doctors said it was fine."

They were silent for a while, watching the clouds roll past the window. Clint had been a big help, Pietro reflected now he had time to think properly. The archer, who had hated him ever since they had met, had been the first person Pietro had seen when he had woken up. He had been confused. Why would Barton visit him? It's not like they were close or anything. But Clint had seemed to be relieved when Pietro had opened his eyes.

"Hey there kid." He had greeted. His voice had been weirdly kind and gentle. "How're you feeling?"

That had only confused him more. But, selfish as it might seem, he hadn't been worrying about Clint. "Wanda?" He had mumbled. Asking his sister's name had cost him a considerable amount of strength and he had started sweating and wheezing.

Clint had helped him, wiping his forehead with a cloth to lower his rapidly rising temperature until the doctors had come back. It had taken roughly three to five days for him to recover fully. Not too long, thanks to his powers.

Fury inhaled deeply, shattering his remembering, letting the breath out as a slow sigh.

"You know the others see you as an avenger?" He continued without waiting for a reply. "But you need some training. You need to learn how to fight like them."

Pietro frowned. None of the avengers were the same. They all had very, very different fighting styles and Pietro had survived the last battle with his own style. Well… Only just survived, but that hadn't been due to him being a bad fighter. Realising Fury was waiting for him to reply, Pietro decided not to linger on the slight offense that comment had caused.

"Trying to turn me into a shield agent?" Pietro asked, only half joking.

"Trying to help you be an avenger." Fury corrected him, sounding a little sterner. "Provided you want to be."

Pietro sighed. "I do."

"Well then…" Fury waved a hand to the door. "Meet your mentor."

Pietro turned round. The door opened and a tall, muscly man with short, scruffy, black hair strode into the room. His eyes were almost completely black, giving him a menacing aura. He was dressed in the regular shield uniform, black, leathery trousers and jacket with an equally dark, cotton shirt. He halted beside Fury, his hands behind his back. He held his head high, looking down at Pietro with judging eyes.

"Pietro Maximoff, meet agent Zaine Dyson."

The man held a hand out and Pietro took it. Zaine gripped his hand tightly but Pietro forced his expression to stay neutral. _This guy reminds me of a Hydra officer…_ He thought, breaking off the handshake. _Not sure I like him._ Then he silently scolded himself. _He's shield. That means he's good. Quit judging a book by its cover._ Zaine offered him a half smile and the corner of Pietro's mouth rose as he returned it. _I bet he's fine._


	2. Chapter 2

"You have to do better than that."

Pietro got to his feet, letting out a breath of pain as Zaine landed a hard punch to his stomach. A clenched fist met his jaw and a heavy weight slammed into his side, sending him sprawling on the ground. Agent Dyson had called him to a training room to 'get him started'. Pietro wasn't aware that training would be him being brutally beaten by his mentor. Whenever he tried to fight back, Zaine would just hit him harder and harder. He coughed weakly, struggling onto his hands and knees, blood dripping from his mouth. Zaine gripped a hand to his hair, forcing his head back.

"We'll continue this tomorrow." He hissed into Pietro's ear. "Traitor."

"I am _not_ a traitor." Pietro growled, pushing him away and leaping to his feet.

A hand sharply struck his face, leaving his cheek stinging.

"Don't answer back!" Zaine almost shouted. " _You_ sided with Ultron. _You_ tried to kill the Avengers. _You_ got Barton shot!"

He shoved Pietro's chest, forcing the young man back a few paces. Pietro glared at him for several seconds, his eyes narrowed with loathing. Letting out a frustrated breath, he turned and walked over to the door. Something thrusted into his shoulder and the next thing he knew he was pinned against the wall, Zaine's forearm pressing down on his throat.

"You know…" He murmured; his voice was like ice. "I don't like you, Maximoff. You think you're special? You think you're a hero? You're nothing. You are an experiment."

"I know what I am." Pietro snarled the words. "I'm not a hero. Everything special about me was created by hatred and grief. Want me to change?" He shoved Zaine away, glaring at him. "Then leave me alone."

"I think you're forgetting something… Fury asked me to teach you. So you'd better-"

"Fury doesn't own me." Pietro reminded him, sounding as if he was talking to a particularly stupid child. "I'm not special. I'm not a hero. I'm nothing." He quoted him. "Remember?"

Zaine glared at him. "Fight better." He ordered sternly. "Or leave."

"What have you got against me anyway?" Pietro questioned, favouring one of his legs.

The agent glared at him and opened his mouth to speak. A beeping noise interrupted him. Pietro looked down at his watch, seeing the tiny light on the side was flashing white. He muttered a curse under his breath, putting a hand to his hip to get an injection needle. There wasn't anything there. _Damn, I didn't realise training would last so long._

"What's that?" Zaine asked curiously, walking over and stopping in front of him. "Why is your watch making that noise?"

"I need to take my injection." Pietro mumbled, pressing a button to mute the beeping. "Have to cut this session short…" The room span and his eyesight blurred as he swayed a little. "I got about… five minutes to live… Can you get Wanda?"

He could tell Zaine was about to reply but he didn't get the chance. Pietro staggered, collapsing onto his hands and knees, his breathing turning hoarse and struggling. Zaine got to one knee beside him, taking his jaw in one hand and forcing his head up so he looked up at the agent.

"Maybe it _is_ better to kill you." He murmured coldly. Pietro fell a little closer to the ground so only his torso and head were raised. Zaine released his jaw and the young man let his head hang limp. "Perhaps they'll buy this instead. It makes more sense than you running away-" The door opened and Zaine quickly switched positions. He lay one hand to Pietro's back, the other to the side of his face, helping him keep his head up. "Pietro? Are you okay? What's wrong?" He etched his voice with fake concern.

Clint sprinted over and Zaine looked up as he crouched down beside Pietro.

"Did you forget your medicine kid?" The archer asked quietly, taking agent Dyson's place in holding the young man's head. Pietro nodded weakly, his eyes wandering lazily around Clint's face. Forcing himself to give a reassuring smile, Clint took an injection needle from a case strapped to his belt. "Lucky I'm here then, aren't you punk?"

Still holding Pietro's head up with one hand, he used the other to push the kid's sleeve- on his grey, short-sleeved shirt- up to his shoulder and stuck the needle into his upper arm. A slight gasping noise escaped Pietro's lips as Clint injected the liquid. The archer noticed his pupils dilate a little as he took the needle out of the young man's arm. Blue eyes locked with his grey irises and Pietro parted his mouth, trying to speak but just managing to choke some indecipherable sounds.

Clint hushed him softly, lowering him onto the ground. "It's alright kid, you're good… I know-" He murmured as Pietro weakly grasped the archer's arms, his eyes taking an edge of fear as he gulped in the air. "I know. But nothing's wrong Pietro. I just added another thing to that injection. It's gonna make you sleep for a bit, that's all."

Pietro swallowed, his throat drying. His struggling was getting weaker. Clint shifted him onto his lap, stroking his head until he stopped moving altogether. His eyes flickered shut, relaxing in the archer's hold as the drug took effect and darkness clouded over his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Bullets thundered against the rock.

The noise was deafening. The force of the bullets sent dust and stones flying into the air, heading in a line towards Barton. Pietro skidded to a momentary halt, his mind working faster than he ran. _Barton… That idiot had gone back. Why did he go back?!_ Then Pietro saw the kid in his arms.

That did it. Two lives in danger, two lives that _needed_ to live. Pietro didn't need to live. He needed to clear Wanda's name, he needed the avengers to trust her, and if this was the only way to make sure they would… Then Pietro was going to take it.

He put on a burst of speed, zooming forward, racing the bullets to Clint and the kid. Of course, he got there first. He shoved Clint to the side and pain slammed into his body. Time seemed to slow down as he stood there, breathing heavily with his eyes set on the ground in front of him. He'd been hit. But that was fine. Clint and the kid were safe.

Lifting his head, he saw Clint look up, flashing a quick glance down at the boy before turning his head to the side and finding Pietro. Shocked horror flashed in his eyes.

"You didn't see that coming." Pietro managed to joke one last time before his eyes clouded over and he felt himself collapse, hitting the rock hard.

Silence… Darkness… And then…

"Damn it kid, wake up."

Pain surged through Pietro's body, not as strong as before but still enough to make him let out a breathy gasp of distress. There was blood on his lips, in his mouth, leaving an oddly metallic taste on his tongue. A hand stroked his head, another wiping the blood from his lips.

His eyes fluttered open.

His sight was blurred and fuzzy, finding it hard to focus his eyes on anything. Pietro had an odd urge to laugh. Nothing's funny though. He's in pain, and he's dying. A hand lay on his chest, the person obviously checking his heartbeat. The contact sent a sharp jolt of pain through his body and his breath caught in his throat. A choked gasp of anguish escaped his lips and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

"Sorry, sorry." A voice apologised fervently, wiping at his lips again, cleaning the blood off his face. "Oh you are such a moron. You're so damn reckless. So young… Why the hell did you take those bullets for me?"

"Cl… Cli…" He attempted to gasp out something but the words refused to form, noises hitching in his throat.

"Shh, shh…" The person hushed him softly. "Don't try to talk. Rest now, okay? You go to sleep… You'll wake up in the tower, and Wanda is going to be there. Nothing else is going to hurt you. I promise."

* * *

Pietro blinked open his eyes.

He was lying in his bed, the duvet pulled up to half-way up his chest, covering his legs. _Battles over,_ he told himself sternly. Clint was sat on a chair beside him, looking down at him. A smile crossed his face as their eyes locked. Pietro raised his head, making sure he was really in his room and this wasn't some weird dream, before beginning to sit up.

"Slowly, slowly." Clint warned quietly, moving to help him.

Pietro shook his head, raising a hand to let Clint know he was alright and he could manage. He shifted himself into a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall behind him. Raising a hand, he touched his arm, running his fingers along the injection mark.

"Close call, huh Barton? Thanks for saving my ass."

Clint gave a faint smile, his face quickly falling as Pietro moved his hand to his chest, wincing a little. "You okay?"

"Mmm…" Pietro hummed in agreement. "Must've hurt my ribs when I fell."

"And this?" Clint gently touched the side of Pietro's face, his fingers brushing a cut across the young man's cheek. "You get that when you fell too?"

Pietro shrugged, refusing to meet Clint's eyes, in fear of his lie showing. "Guess so." He muttered.

Clint sighed. "You're supposed to tell me if you're not coping kid."

"I'm fine Clint."

"You're not though are you." The archer shook his head a little. "Pietro, I just want to help-"

"I didn't ask for your help!" Pietro snapped. Realising what he'd said, he shook his head. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that… I know you're trying to help me, and you have, you really have Clint. You've been more helpful than anyone, and I'm grateful. And I appreciate it, but… But I can manage, okay? I promise, I'm coping."


	4. Chapter 4

Pietro winced as Zaine forcibly fixed the straps around his wrists.

The man the laid a metal wire over his chest, attaching it to either side of the mesh-table.

Pietro was lying on his back on a metal slab, tilted slightly so he could see the door. At the first look at it, Pietro had immediately thought torture. There were leather straps holding his arms and legs down. To the side of the metal mesh, there was a kind of lever, which Zaine was now standing by. Endurance test. That's what he had said. It was when Zaine put his hand on the lever did Pietro realise what he was going to do.

The lever was pushed down.

A jolt of pain shook Pietro's body and he shut his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth to hold back a scream. A clunk met his ears and he fell limp as the sensation halted. A hand took hold of his jaw and roughly forced his head up.

"Does…" Pietro paused to catch his breath. "Does Fury know what you're doing?"

Zaine smiled cruelly. "No." He waved a hand to the lever. "This isn't legal." His eyes suddenly hardened. "And you're not going to tell anyone. Because they won't believe you. Your word against mine… Fury'll take mine."

"So I'm just supposed to sit back and let you kill me?" Pietro asked scathingly.

"Oh, I don't want to kill you Maximoff." Zaine sounded almost hurt as he released Pietro's jaw, walking back to the lever.

"No?"

"No." A cold smile split Zaine's features as he put his hand back on the lever. "I want to break you."

He held it down for a long time, ignoring Pietro's screams of pain. When he pulled the lever up again, Pietro was shivering with exhaustion, his heart racing. Zaine put a finger to his chin, lifting his head. Worry flashed in his eyes for a heartbeat, but it was gone so quickly Pietro wondered if he had imagined it. The man obviously wasn't intending to kill him, just scare him into running away.

"That'll be enough for today." Zaine muttered, unstrapping the holds.

Pietro fell from the table, collapsing onto the floor. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and Zaine tried to help him up. Finding himself too weak to stand, Pietro fell to his side. Zaine let out a frustrated breath, picking him up and slinging him over one shoulder.

He walked out the room, marching into the elevator and taking it up to the floor Pietro's room was on. As he opened the door to the young man's room, a voice sounded from down the corridor.

"Pietro?"

Zaine quickly slipped into the room, dropping Pietro on the bed. He blinked up at his mentor, his blue eyes flickering.

"Don't say a word." Zaine hissed into his ear.

The door opened and Pietro's eyes fluttered shut, his head falling to the side a little. Wanda poked her head in, rushing to the bed as she saw her brother. She sat beside him, laying her hands to each side of his face.

"Pietro?" She whispered, growing afraid when he didn't respond. Turning to Zaine, the man saw no anger in her eyes; she obviously suspected nothing. "What happened?"

"It was my fault." Zaine admitted, lowering his gaze to make his guilt act more believing. "I think I've been working him too hard. I noticed he was looking tired during our session today so I asked if he wanted to take the day off. He said he was fine and I believed him. But after a while he just… He just collapsed. I thought it might be because he hadn't taken his injection but he took it earlier…"

Wanda shook her head, shutting her eyes. "I-I knew he had trouble sleeping… But I never imagined he'd been making himself sick because of it."

"I'm sorry, I should've realised sooner." Zaine mumbled, sitting down beside her.

"No, it wasn't your fault." Wanda insisted quietly. She stroked back Pietro's hair. "I think he just made himself tired."

Zaine lay a hand to Pietro's leg momentarily before getting to his feet, muttering something about going to see Fury. At Wanda's nod, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Wanda stroked her hand to her brother's cheek. She frowned. There were fresh cuts and bruises on his pale skin. A bruise was only just beginning to form near his left temple. He looked like he'd been beaten. _It's probably just from the battle with Ultron,_ she tried to convince herself. _How else would he have got them?_

She shook away a nagging thought in the back of her mind. There was no way Agent Dyson could have done this. No way.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- Hey guys! Hope you're liking this story (I'm really enjoying writing it). Thank you again for the idea Imfine19.**  
 **i. got .this24: Thank you for the suggestion and this chapter is based off of it. I modified and added to it a little, to fit my writing style, but I hope you still like it.**  
 **~Eniko**

* * *

Zaine struck a clenched fist to Pietro's jaw. Pietro collapsed to his knees, bracing a hand against the ground to prevent himself from falling completely. There was blood in his mouth, coating his tongue with an oddly metallic taste. Resisting the urge of swallow, he looked up at Zaine, who was standing in front of him, staring down at him coldly.

"Get up." He ordered, his rage spilling over like a burst dam as Pietro tried and failed to get to his feet. Zaine grabbed Pietro's shirt collar, heaving him to his feet. "Hit me." He ordered.

Pietro hesitated slightly, not trusting him for a second. No way in hell Zaine would ask Pietro to hit him and not have a trick up his sleeve. The agent growled angrily, grasping Pietro's throat and shoving him against the wall.

"Coward! Hit me!" Zaine yelled. "Are you scared?" He taunted in a falsely kind voice. "Too frightened to hit me? You want your mummy to come and protect you?"

Fury rushed through Pietro and, overcome with anger, he swung a fist at Agent Dyson. Zaine caught his wrist, twisting his arm down and smacking his face. Pietro let out a yell of pain, dropping to his knees, using a hand to cover his nose. He could swear it was broken; warm, thick blood was streaming from his face onto his hands.

A shadow obscured the light and Pietro looked up, trying to ignore the blood, which was now running across his lips and down his chin. Zaine looked down at him coldly, his eyes narrowed in hatred for the young man.

"You're weak." He hissed spitefully. "Go run to your sister to protect you. Get someone else to stand up to me. Someone stronger... Go on... Go!"

Pietro shook his head weakly. No matter how much pain he was in, how much of this guy's shit he was taking, he would never go to ask Wanda for help. He didn't want her in this mess too. Asking Fury to switch his trainer was an option, but that would just be proving Zaine's point. _I can handle it_ , Pietro told himself. _I don't need anyone else's help._

Zaine sighed, as if he was bored. "Just leave. Tell Fury you can't cut it as an avenger, and stop trying to be something you're not... You're not a hero Pietro. You never will be."

"I know that." Pietro murmured quietly, touching his nose carefully to check if it was broken. "I know I'm never going to be anywhere near the avengers level... But I want to help people. I want to make sure people don't get hurt because of my and other people's mistakes... I know I'll never be a hero."

* * *

Pietro gripped the edge of the sink, coughing up blood into the white bowl.

He was shivering with exhaustion and his legs felt too weak to support him. Zaine was working him hard. The dark-haired agent was tough, and fought Pietro both with fists and words. Punch, call him a traitor, punch, tell him everything's always his fault, punch, and so on. Pietro washed the blood from his hands, hurriedly drying them on the towel hanging next to the sink.

Taking a cloth from the edge of the sink, he held it to his nose to stop the blood flow. He didn't think it was broken, so that was a plus. When the nosebleed had stopped, he soaked the cloth with water and pressed it to a cut above his eye. He quickly cleaned the blood from his face before dropping the wipe and letting his head hang limp, shutting his eyes.

A quiet knock sounded on his bedroom door.

"Pietro?"

He recognised the voice as Clint's. _Oh great(!)_ He looked into the mirror above the sink. A crescent-shaped bruise was visible down the side of his left eye, on his temple. There was a cut on his bottom lip, on his cheek and above his right eye. Clint would definitely notice. _I'll just have to make something up._

"Pietro, let me in." Clint's voice was more commanding this time.

Pietro sighed and walked out of the bathroom, across the room and to the door. He unlocked and opened it.

"What do you want?" He asked quietly.

Clint's expression switched to shock as he looked at Pietro. He reached up a hand, brushing Pietro's hair from the left of his face, exposing the bruise. The younger man flinched away from him.

"What happened?" Clint questioned in a hushed voice,continuing when Pietro didn't reply. "Pietro, who did this to you?"

"No one. It's nothing." Pietro muttered, covering the injury with his messy hair.

"It is not nothing." Clint insisted. "You know it's not nothing."

Pietro turned his head away, refusing to meet Clint's eyes. Anger burned deep inside him. _You don't understand!_ Then he became annoyed at himself. Clint was just worried about him. _But I can look after myself… Uh, have you_ _ **seen**_ _yourself lately?_

"Are you going to let me help?"

"I don't need help." Pietro cut Clint off as he began to protest. "Just leave it, okay!"

He slammed the door, locking it again. Resting his forehead on the wood with a slight sigh, he heard Clint's voice again.

"I just want to make sure you're okay kid." He murmured.

Even though he knew Clint couldn't see him, Pietro shook his head. _I'm not okay… But you'll never believe me. Zaine's a respected agent… Who'd believe my word against his? I couldn't even die properly!_ He turned away from the door, walking across the room. Stripping off his shirt as he went, he threw it on the floor and rolled onto his bed. Laying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling. _I can handle it,_ he kept telling himself. _I can handle it._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- Hi again. Just letting you know, this chapter was also a request- creds for my inspiration go to AsgardianGrizzly for this one- so thank you :)**

 **~Eniko**

* * *

Wanda looked behind her, checking Clint was still there.

The archer cast her a quick, reassuring smile and she, a little more reluctant, returned it. She and Clint had been talking about Pietro. Certain something was wrong with her brother, Wanda had gone to Clint and he had agreed that the young man seemed to be struggling. They were on their way to Pietro's room, to talk to him about it.

Turns out, they didn't even have to go that far, as, rounding a corner, Wanda caught sight of her brother up ahead. Pietro was trudging down the hallway towards them, his hands in the pockets of a grey hoodie he had on. He looked like he was thinking. _Was he limping?_ Wanda thought anxiously.

"Pietro!" Wanda called, causing her brother to look up.

She and Clint jogged up to him and Wanda pulled his hood down. His face was pale, dark under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a while. There were cuts above his eye, across the side of his jaw, on his cheek, on his lower lip, bruises beginning to fade through in some places.

"What?" He murmured.

"We wanted to talk to you." Wanda said, hiding her shock at his gaunt appearance. "You haven't been yourself recently… Pietro-" She took his hand reassuringly. "You can talk to us if you're finding it hard to cope. We're here for you. It hasn't been long since the battle, I'm sure Zaine'll understand if you want to cut down on training. It was only a couple of days ago you collapsed in a session-"

"I'm fine Wanda." Pietro muttered, pulling his hand from her gentle grip. "I just wasn't feeling great that day, that's all."

"Pietro, please." Wanda begged quietly. "You're exhausted-"

"I said I'm fine!" Pietro practically shouted, causing Wanda to flinch back a little.

Regret shot through Pietro's eyes but he just shook his head, continuing down the corridor. He brushed past Wanda and a shocked Clint. Pietro had never lost his temper like that, not at Wanda. His sister leapt after him.

"Why are you being like this?!" She demanded, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to face her.

To her surprise, Pietro let out a yell of anguish and winced away, raising a hand to his shoulder. His eyes were narrowed in pain, refusing to meet Wanda's gaze. He kept his hand to his shoulder as she gently touched the side of his face.

"It hurts?" She asked softly. Pietro shook his head and she turned his head slightly, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know it does Pietro. What happened?"

"I must've done something to it when I was running earlier." Pietro mumbled. "Probably wrenched it or something."

"Stop lying to me!"

Clint gently put a hand to her shoulder. "Wanda." He murmured. "Enough. He's in pain." He moved forward, resting a hand gently to Pietro's uninjured shoulder. "Come with me, you need to get that shoulder looked at." Pietro shook his head and Clint narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Kid, if you're hurt, you need to tell us. You need to let the doctor's take a look at you."

Pietro shook his head again, backing away from Clint. "No, I don't need their help. I'm not going back in that room. I don't want to go back in a hospital room. Don't make me."

Wanda's eyes narrowed in sympathy and she took a step towards him, planning on comforting him. "Pietro…"

"I'm fine." Pietro repeated quietly, taking a step back. "I just want to be on my own."

With that, he turned, disappearing in a flash of blue smoke and sprinting out of sight down the corridor. Wanda took a step after him, halting almost immediately. "Pietro…" She whispered his name under her breath, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She cast a look back to Clint, who lifted a hand, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Give him some time." The archer murmured gently. "He'll get better. We just have to be here for him if he needs us."

"But he does need us." Wanda whispered. "He doesn't want to talk to us because he thinks he can handle things by himself. He's too proud to admit he needs help." She looked up at Barton. "I think he's hurting himself on purpose. Have you seen his wrists?"

Clint shook his head, surprised. _The kid's self-harming?!_ He gently patted Wanda's shoulder. "I'll talk to him, try and see if I can get him to speak to me about it."

Wanda nodded. If anyone could get Pietro to open up, it was Clint.

* * *

Pietro was sat on the edge of his bed, gently exercising his shoulder, when Clint opened the door to his room.

The archer didn't speak, just shut the door and walked over to sit beside Pietro. Still silent, he eased Pietro's hand down from his shoulder, massaging it carefully. After a few moments, he took Pietro's hand in his.

"Push against my hand." He ordered and Pietro did so.

He was weaker than he should be. When Pietro had relaxed, Clint turned his hand up, pulling the grey sleeve of Pietro's hoodie up, exposing his slashed wrist. The young man immediately drew back, snatching his hand away. But Clint had seen the scars.

"You need help Pietro." He half-sighed the words.

The young man shook his head. Clint would never believe him if he said Zaine had done this. A few days ago, the agent had pinned him against the wall of the training room, taken out a knife and cut a few slashes across Pietro's wrist. He hadn't understood it at the time but now he knew. Zaine was trying to make it look like he was suicidal.

Rogers wouldn't want someone like that on the team, Clint and Wanda would make him get help. Pietro would probably get kicked off the avengers because Wanda would decide he couldn't cope with the pressure of training.

Clint gently touched Pietro's hand, interlacing their fingers. "Kid please… Wanda and I are worried about you. If there's anything I can do… I want to help you. I _can_ help you. But you've got to tell me how."

Pietro shook his head, beginning to rethink his stubbornness. Maybe Barton _could_ help him. "Clint…"

His cut himself off quickly as the door opened. Zaine stood there, his gaze a little less stern as he saw Clint was there. "Time for training Maximoff." He said, taking a step into the room. He nodded to Clint. "Agent Barton."

"Dyson." Clint got to his feet, walking over and talking to him in a hushed voice. "I think we need to give him a bit more time… The memory of the battle seems to be getting to him. He's exhausted…"

Zaine looked at him curiously. "You think I'm working him too hard?"

"No." Clint shook his head, flashing a quick glance back at Pietro. "No I don't think it's to do with training. He… He's struggling. Wanda and I think he's self-harming." Zaine looked shocked but Clint continued. "I think we need to cut down on the training sessions until he gets back on his feet. Maybe just a short session every other day? I don't know…"

Dyson nodded. "Sure, I get it. He…" Zaine frowned suddenly, his gaze drifting past Clint. "Pietro?"

Clint looked around, rushing to the kid as he saw Pietro had a hand clutched to his heart. His breathing was elevated slightly and he was fumbling around with a drawer on his bedside table. Clint opened the drawer for him and he shuffled his hand around in the rubble of papers. The young man gave a soft, almost silent whine.

"Do you need your injection?" Clint asked gently.

Pietro nodded, his eyelids slipping a little. "L-Lost track of time…" He murmured before letting out a quiet gasp and falling back, collapsing onto his bed.

Clint hurriedly rummaged through the drawer. "Where the hell is it?" He muttered under his breath, quickly leaping to his feet. "Zaine, stay with him!" He called over his shoulder, running out of the room.

Agent Dyson moved to sit beside Pietro, looking round to make sure no one was coming into the room. Certain they were alone, he covered Pietro's mouth with his hand, pinching his nose to prevent him from breathing. The young man struggled weakly but he wasn't strong enough to force Zaine off of him.

"You were going to tell Barton." Zaine hissed coldly, holding Pietro still as he squirmed and thrashed. "I heard you, you were going to tell him what I was doing… I was going to let you live, let you run away like the coward you are, but this is better… I guess I'll see you again Maximoff. I'll see you in hell."


	7. Chapter 7

Clint ran into Pietro's room, doctor Cho close behind him.

Zaine looked up, panic and grief bright in his eyes. "He stopped breathing, I-I didn't know what to do."

Clint got onto the bed next to Pietro, touching the young man's head with one hand, the other checking his heart. It was either too weak to detect or not beating at all. His eyes were shut, his lips parted slightly. But Zaine was right. He wasn't breathing.

Taking the injection needle from Helen, Clint quickly lifted the young man's sleeve and stuck the needle in Pietro's arm, pushing in the liquid. Pietro didn't even twitch. Clint took out the needle, throwing it on the floor and moving to stroke Pietro's head. The kid remained motionless, breathless. Clint cast a desperate look at doctor Cho.

"Helen…" He croaked, grief glittering in his eyes. "Why isn't he breathing? The injection…"

She shook her head, looking down at Pietro mournfully. "I think we were too late."

"No…" Clint murmured under his breath, looking back to Pietro. "No, kid… Kid, wake up." He gently shook Pietro's uninjured shoulder, a choke of grief rising in his throat. "Pietro, please…"

Doctor Cho moved forward, pressing two fingers to the side of Pietro's neck to check for a pulse. She shut her eyes, seeming to stay there for a long time before opening them again, drawing her hand away.

"Got an output." She murmured quietly. "It's weak, but it's there. I need to get him to a medical room, fast."

Clint was already lifting the young man, cradling his limp form in a firm but gentle hold. Helen led the way, running out of the room and down the hallways of the tower. Sprinting after her, Clint followed the woman into the nearest medical facility and quickly lay Pietro down on the bed. He took a few steps back as doctors milled around the young man, taking his shirt off and prepping him for Helen, who was equipping the defibrillators.

She moved to stand by the side of the bed and another doctor switched the machine on. "Shocking." Helen warned, causing the doctors to step back. "Three, two, one."

She touched the devices to Pietro's chest and an electrified buzz shot through the air and Pietro's body jerked violently. The doctors glanced to the monitors for a second but nothing had changed. Helen hovered the defibrillators over Pietro again.

"Again." She ordered. "Shocking, three, two, one."

The shock passed through Pietro again, jolting his body and, with a startled gasp, he sat bolt upright. His chest heaved as he gulped in rapid breaths, eyes wide with shock as his entire body started to shiver. Clint rushed over to him, sitting beside him on the bed and touching his shoulder. Pietro flinched as if he was being hit, snapping his head to Clint, his eyes flaring with panic.

"Hey, hey, calm it kid." Clint soothed gently, bracing his hands to both of Pietro's shoulders. "Calm down, it's alright. It's okay, hey-" He moved a hand up to the side of Pietro's jaw, turning his head back towards him as he began to flash his gaze around the room. "Hey, look at me, you're safe. Okay? You're alright."

Pietro swallowed hard, his breathing gradually calming into a steadier rhythm. Letting out a quiet sigh, he shut his eyes, hanging his head. Clint slowly dropped his hands from the young man's shoulders. Raising a hand to his head suddenly, Pietro winced, letting out a slight gasp of pain as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

"Pietro?" Clint asked fearfully. "Pietro what's wrong?"

"Ah!" Pietro shook his head a little, keeping his eyes closed. "Ah, it-it hurts. Clint…"

One of the doctors gently pushed Pietro back down, trying to hold him still as he scrambled on the bed, his hand clutched to his forehead. The doctors gathered around Pietro, holding him down as one of them inserted a cannula into his forearm.

"Alright Pietro, alright, gonna give you something to stop the pain now." The doctor murmured, attaching a tube to the cannula. "Give it a minute, the pain'll stop soon."

Pietro grunted, spasming his body in an attempt to force the doctor's off. He let out a yell of anguish, making Clint flinch slightly. One of the doctors holding Pietro down looked back to Clint, gesturing for him to come closer. The archer hesitantly took a few steps forward, so he stood beside the bed.

"Can you try to calm him down?" The doctor asked quietly. "He's in distress. Please, he shouldn't sleep when he's in this state."

Clint gave a quick nod and the doctor's moved to allow him to stand closest to Pietro's head. The archer gently rested a hand to Pietro's chest, moving the other to the young man's forehead. He cleared his throat silently, trying to block out the beeping of the monitors.

"Kid, it's me." He whispered softly, immediately noticing Pietro's focus sharpen slightly. "You know me, yeah? It's that stupid old man you like to make fun of." He smiled a little, to reassure Pietro as the kid allowed his eyes to open a fraction. "You see? It's me…"

"Clint…" Pietro let out the name as a breath.

The archer gently touched the side of Pietro's jaw, his thumb caressing the kid's cheek. "Shh…" He hushed softly, noting Pietro's breathing was slowing due to the morphine. "That's right, it's okay… You gotta sleep now, yeah?"

Pietro shook his head weakly, though Clint could see he was struggling to keep his eyes open. "No… No, don't want to…"

Clint let his hand move up to stroke Pietro's head. "Why Pietro?" He asked softly, sure to keep very calm, as opposed to the fear he was feeling at the state the kid was in. "Why don't you want to sleep? Sleep's good, it'll make you feel better, I promise."

Pietro shut his eyes, letting out a soft whine. "No…" He whimpered breathlessly, his voice trailing slightly as the drugs took effect. "No, he… He'll be angry at me… No…"

Clint was about to ask who he meant, but the kid was already under, the morphine deepening his breathing. Pietro slept, peacefully for once.

* * *

Pietro winced as he stepped into the shower, a sharp pain in his ribs shooting up through the entirety of his body. Raising his hands, he ran his fingers through his already soaked, white hair.

Catching a hint of colour, he looked down, seeing that the water draining down the plug was tinged red from his injuries he had received at training today. Trying to ignore it, he turned, so he faced the oncoming water and braced his hands again the pale tiles.

It had been a couple of days since Zaine had tried to kill him and Pietro was beginning to wish he'd succeeded.

Warm water slid down his face, rinsing blood from the cuts Zaine had gifted him with. His trainer had been annoyed, angry that Pietro had survived his murder attempt. Realisation shot through Pietro. _He tried to murder me..._

Now Pietro found himself debating his options. Endure it, tell someone, or do what Zaine wanted and run away. The latter would be the easiest. But Pietro didn't want to run anymore; he'd spent a good part of his life running and he was sick of it. He knew he was stubborn, proud, slightly over confident- bordering on cocky- sometimes. That's why telling someone wasn't an option anymore. He couldn't involve Wanda in this, or Clint for that matter. This was his mess. He could sort it out on his own.

A stab of agony hit his chest and he winced, turning and sliding down to the floor. Warmth stung at his eyes and he blinked furiously, refusing to let himself cry. He won't cry, he will _not_ cry.

"I can handle it." He whispered under his breath, his face buried in his arms, which were folded on his knees. "I can handle it..." Anger overwhelmed him for a moment. He was angry at himself for being so affected by this. "It's not that big a deal." He hissed to himself. "Stop getting upset, this is stupid."

Pain throbbed through his body and he couldn't without a grunt of anguish, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Warm water slid down his back and he tucked his legs closer, sobbing against his knees. It wasn't just about the pain this time. It was the source of his pain. He was beginning to think Dyson was right; he was weak, mentally, physically, emotionally weak.

He straightened up, leaning back against the cold tiles. He let himself cry. No one could see him here, no one will ever get to see him in this state. Zaine was breaking him. He thought he was strong enough to put up with it, but he isn't. This fight is harder than anything Pietro's faced.

Pietro's losing.

And he has no idea what to do.


	8. Chapter 8

Pietro woke with a slight jolt, sweating lightly from the fear of his nightmare.

He couldn't remember what it had been about. He just remembered he'd been scared, more scared than he'd ever been in his life. And now he felt unusually warm; maybe his room had just gotten warmer, or maybe it was his dream.

His eyes met the headboard of his bed as they opened, a wooden slab which met the blue painted wall at the head of his bed. One arm was resting in front of his face, on the soft, white pillow, the other was out of sight, beneath the pillow.

White hair fell in strands around Pietro's face, obscuring his vision slightly. He stretched briefly, quickly relaxing again. He was tired. Besides feeling drowsy, he was tired of Zaine's training sessions, he was tired of his sister worrying over him, he was tired of Clint thinking he couldn't handle it. He just wanted to sleep today.

Turning over, he curled up his body slightly, shifting his duvet up a little more. He gave a silent sigh, blinking his eyes open again. Surprise rushed through him and his head shot off the pillow, because there, standing arm-crossed in the corner of his room, was Clint.

"What're you doing in here?" Pietro asked, half moaning due to exhaustion. He dropped his head back down on the pillow, a little uncomfortable at Clint seeing him without his shirt on. " _How_ are you in here?"

"Picked the lock." Clint replied quietly, not shifting from his position, watching over Pietro carefully.

Pietro looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you wanted to see me with my shirt off you could have just asked." He teased mischievously. "You don't have to break into my room."

Clint rolled his eyes, pushing himself out the corner and walking to lean against the wall beside Pietro. "You've been outta the game for a while kid." He commented, obviously choosing not to indulge in the banter Pietro was trying to provoke. "Are you ready for the field?"

"Once again in English please." Pietro requested, though he already suspected what Clint was asking and a spark of excitement was beginning to grow inside him.

Clint sighed, moving to ruffle Pietro's unkempt, white hair. "Wake up kid. I'm asking if you're feeling up for a mission. But, judging by your current mood, I'd say no. Am I right?"

Pietro shook his head. "No, sorry, I'm up for it." He protested, throwing the duvet off and getting to his feet. He felt a little like a child, standing in front of a mission-ready Clint, while Pietro himself was wearing only blue, grey and silver tartan pyjama bottoms. "What's the mission?" _Anything to get out of training for a while._

"Hydra have a lab somewhere in the north of Russia." Clint explained briefly. "Testing some kind of chemicals, poisons, drugs, take your pick… We're leaving in fifteen minutes, so if you want to come, you'd better get ready quick."

"Clinton, quick is my middle name."

* * *

Pietro skidded to a halt, breathing elevated slightly.

Take out the guards. That's what Stark had told him to do, and that's what he was in the process of doing. There were a lot of guards. Thankfully it wasn't just him who'd been assigned the task.

"Pietro keep moving." Clint's voice buzzed through his earpiece. "You can't get hit when you're running but standing still you're an open target."

Pietro looked up, hoping to see where Clint was watching him from. The archer usually took up position in a high place, claiming he saw better from a distance. At least as long as no one saw him, he was safe. A flash of movement caught Pietro's eye and a second later, Clint peered out from behind a trunk of a large pine tree, almost invisible among the needles. He was a long way up; Pietro prayed he wouldn't lose his balance.

"Pietro, listen to me. There are eleven agents coming up on your six. Move!"

Spinning round, Pietro caught sight of the agents and muttered a curse in Sokovian. All eleven were crouched down in a line, their pistols raised and trained on Pietro. Eleven gunshots. Pietro, instead of running away, shot forward, ducking beneath bullets as he raced towards the agents.

He slammed two of their heads together, punched another three in the face and kicked the others down like dominos. He then took two of the guns, one in each hand, and shot all eleven men through their shoulders. He didn't kill them; he wasn't a murderer.

"Pietro!" Clint called, his voice etched with anxiousness. "Pietro, are you okay?"

The young man was shaking, trembling with shock at his own abilities. It was getting stronger; maybe his power was too extreme. He was so full of anger, and yet he was still frightened. He was scared of Agent Dyson. He was afraid of waking up in the morning because Zaine would beat him in training.

"Pietro." Suddenly Clint was behind him, pushing the pistols down and easing them from his hands. "It's alright Pietro… It's alright, nothing's gonna hurt you now…"

Pietro took in a calming breath, letting it out as a slow sigh. He coughed suddenly, the taste of blood coating his tongue, something warm and wet sliding down the side of his jaw. Clint looked at him in horror as Pietro raised a hand to his mouth, lowering it to see blood coating his fingers.

He looked down, seeing that blood was seeping through his shirt, welling form two rips in his flesh where bullets had torn through his torso. Pietro turned his head, vision swimming as he glanced back at Clint, who was staring at him in shock. Legs losing the strength to hold him, Pietro staggered back, collapsing as his eyes rolled back.

Hands caught him, supporting his back and head as he was eased to the ground. Pietro squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching as pain shot through his chest. Damn, he'd forgotten how much that hurt.

"Eyes open kid, look at me."

Pietro kept his eyes firmly shut and a hand lightly slapped the side of his face.

"Pietro! I know you can hear me, look at me."

With a slight, breathy groan, his eyes fluttered open, blurring gaze resting on Clint's face. The archer was looking down at him anxiously, his eyes filled with grief and pity and determination. Pietro swallowed, his throat convulsing as he tried to swallow past the blood. That was the worst part. The blood that had risen in his mouth felt like it was sticking his throat shut. His attempt to breathe deeply was futile, his breaths coming out in quick, hitched gasps.

He tried to concentrate on breathing, tried to focus on that as opposed to the excruciating pain shooting through his chest as Clint lifted him up in his arms.

"Where the hell is the Quinjet?!"

"Landed it somewhere east of the Hydra lab." Stark's voice buzzed through the earpieces, etched with worry. "What's happened?"

"Pietro's been hit." Clint reported, shifting Pietro up into a more secure hold. "I need to get him outta here, now."

"Run, I'll cover you." Natasha called over the earpiece.

Pietro felt himself go limp, felt darkness crowd his vision. He could swear he heard someone call his name as he passed out in Clint's arms. It sounded familiar, like Clint or Wanda or memories of his parents...

Then he found himself struggling for air again, completely conscious of the pain and the hand resting on his forehead and the voice trying to comfort him. He was choking again, but not on blood this time. Something was stuck down his throat and his hand twitched violently in a reflex. A hand took his and squeezed gently.

"Don't fight… It's helping you breathe Pietro, try not to fight it." A voice that sounded like Clint's whispered gently, fingers caressing his white hair. "Everything's gonna be alright now, we'll get you back to the helicarrier soon… Just try to relax, it'll get better if you relax."

Pietro lost consciousness once more, but this time with the knowledge that he was safe. He was safe in the Quinjet, safe at least until they got back to the helicarrier. Zaine would probably kill him as a punishment for not trying hard enough to die.

Pietro found himself wishing he'd got more seriously injured. Maybe then he'd have gotten out of training for longer. He hoped no one would ever find out that him getting shot on that mission… That was no accident.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N- Okay, in the last chapter I noticed I accidentally had Clint say tower instead of helicarrier because, being completely honest, I forgot where I'd set the story (whoops). I've changed it to helicarrier now, but I'm really sorry if I confused anyone, and I'm sorry if I ever get confused and say tower again... Try enjoy this chapter anyway- just ignore it if I say tower in the future 'cause I mean helicarrier... Okay, byeee :)**

* * *

Pietro's eyes fluttered open.

An immediate surge of pain rushed through his body, coursing through his veins, seeming to burn in his blood. Everything hurt.

He took in a shaky breath, trying to control the horrendous feeling with a weak clench of his right fist. His throat felt like it was closing, making breathing a difficult task for the young man. He couldn't remember it hurting this much before.

A hand touched his chest suddenly, pressing against a bullet wound close to his heart. He let out a gasp of anguish, his vision washing with blinding white for a moment. There was an indecipherable murmur. A finger slowly trailed down the side of his face before a sharp hand struck his cheek, slapping him across the face.

"Wakey wakey." A cruel voice hissed as someone roughly forced one of his eyes open a fraction. "We've got things to talk about."

Pietro reluctantly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, eyes refusing to focus straight away. Blinking cleared his sight enough to make out the sneering face of Zaine Dyson hovering above him. He smirked as Pietro tensed, a quiet sound of pain exhaling from his lips.

"Aww, does it hurt?" Zaine queried teasingly. "I may have fiddled with the morphine a little… Though I must say you're doing remarkably well for someone how hasn't had pain relief since you got out the Quinjet."

Pietro tried to breathe steadily but his lungs refused to co-operate. His chest felt tight and agonisingly painful, so his breathing was coming out in desperate, hitched gasps and there was nothing he could do about it. Warmth stung his eyes but he wouldn't let himself cry. Not in front of Zaine. He hadn't wanted to beg but the pain was talking for him.

"Zaine…" He breathed out the name weakly, his voice faint with anguish. "Please…"

Dyson smiled again, his eyes glinting with glee. "Can't take it little boy…?" He paused for a moment, his grin widening and growing even crueller. "Okay, I'll turn on the morphine… If you get up."

Pietro gritted his teeth. Zaine was pushing him too far. But if he got his mentor to switch the morphine on, that meant Pietro could sleep. And if he was sleeping, he didn't have to feel pain.

Clenching his fists, Pietro shifted his body so he lay on his side. He felt Zaine watching him, eyes burning against his skin as his hands grasped the bed, shakily pushing his torso up. He braced his elbow against the bed, arm at a right angle to keep himself steady.

Agony ripped through his chest, surging through the bullet wounds like fire, and Pietro had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from crying. A sharp pain stung his hand suddenly and his eyes shot open to see Zaine pulling the cannula from the back of his hand, dropping it on the floor. Dyson grabbed a handful of Pietro's hair, at the back of his head, forcing the young man to look at him.

"You didn't really think I'd help you, did you?" A harsh voice hissed against Pietro's temple. "I thought you might have learned by now ki-"

Zaine broke off sharply, releasing Pietro's head. Pietro let it drop, shutting his eyes again, grateful to whoever had just opened the door. Agent Dyson spoke again, but this time his voice was etched with fake concern. Pietro could hear footsteps making their way towards him as Zaine acted anxious.

"Pietro… Pietro, lie down! Please, don't try to get up… Pietro!"

A gentle hand lay to Pietro's back and a new, soft voice murmured in his ear. "Lie down Pietro. It's okay, you can lie down."

Lifting his head shakily, Pietro blinked, finding Clint was stood beside his bed. The archer's eyes were filled with compassion as he moved his free hand to Pietro's arm- which was holding his torso up. Clint gently slid his arm down, helping him to lie back, laying his head down carefully.

"There we go Pietro." Clint said kindly, running his fingers through Pietro's white hair. "There, it's alright… What happened, hey kid? What's going on?"

Pietro twitched his fingers on his right hand, where the IV line Zaine ripped out had previously been. Almost immediately, Clint's gaze flicked to his fingers and his eyes widened in shock, taking Pietro's hand and running his thumb along the slightly red marks the IV had made.

"Why do you do this to yourself kid?" He asked quietly, leaning down to take the thin tube in his hand and carefully fixing it to the back of Pietro's hand again. "How long have you gone without morphine?"

"Don't know…" Pietro mumbled, hoping Clint wouldn't catch the lie in his words. "I-I'm sorry, I panicked… I didn't know what it was."

Clint dismissed his rushed apologies with a simple shake of his head. "It's alright kid, I don't think any damage has been done to your hand… Just keep it in there from now on, it's there to stop you hurting. It's a good thing for you right now."

Pietro nodded, already feeling his eyes beginning to slip due to the drugs being fed into his system. That was the odd thing about his power. Drugs seemed to have a faster effect on him- which was good when it came to pain relief because it numbed the pain, but also meant he was completely useless under the influence of morphine.

Drowsiness blurred his vision and he blinked slowly, eyes drifting up to Clint's face and back down to their entangled hands. Clint squeezed his fingers reassuringly and Pietro, not entirely sure of what he was doing, pressed his fingers to Clint's palm. His eyelids slipped again, his body relaxing as his head fell to the side a little.

"Pietro?" Zaine's voice asked gently, a hand laying to the side of his jaw, turning his head back to the centre. Pietro sensed him look to Clint. "What's wrong with him? Is he okay?"

"It's just the morphine." Clint murmured, though he sounded oddly distracted. "He'll sleep for a few hours... I expect you've got things to do. Don't worry-" He interrupted gently as Zaine began to ask if Pietro would be okay. "I'm going to stay with him."

Pietro felt his eyes close, felt a hand touch his head, felt Clint squeeze his hand. The morphine took effect, sending him into a deep sleep.

* * *

Pietro woke with a soft grunt, his eyes opening a fraction.

The pain he had felt before was almost non-existent, just a slight throb of discomfort in his chest. He still felt slightly drowsy but he knew the feeling would pass after time. He'd get better eventually.

Clint was sat beside him, looking down at him as if keeping watch. He was watching Pietro like, well, like a hawk, he supposed. The young man tried for a weak smile but Clint didn't return it, his eyes carefully curious as he gazed at Pietro.

"What?" Pietro murmured sleepily, still groggy from the morphine. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

The archer didn't reply for a moment, seeming to be trying to find the right words. "Do… Do you remember what you did…? Before you fell asleep?" He obviously took Pietro's blank expression as a no, so pressed on. "You tapped your fingers against my hand… Were you trying to code?"

Pietro blinked in confusion. "Why?" He asked, trying to recall the events before his sleep. "Did I tap a message in code?" Clint continued that thoughtful look, not giving Pietro an answer. "You were giving me a ton of morphine at the time Barton." Pietro reminded him, anxious at what he'd told the archer. "It was probably drug-induced nonsense."

Clint smirked suddenly. "That's a lot of big words for such a little kid."

Pietro opened his mouth in mock outrage, swatting a hand to Clint's arm. "Excuse me. Rude."

"Sorry." Clint apologised, not sounding sorry at all. His face slowly melted back to serious as another sentence progressed. "But back to the point, you did type a code… I'm not sure if I translated it right but I think you said 'keep Z out'."

Pietro's blood turned to ice. He knew exactly what that meant and, judging by the look on Clint's face, he guessed Barton knew as well. Clint tiled his head to the side a little, confused.

"I'm thinking you meant Zaine. He was there at the time if you remember. But I don't understand why you'd want him to leave." Clint shrugged slightly, but his eyes betrayed his worry. "I know it might've just been 'drug-induced nonsense' but I made sure he wasn't allowed in here…" He gave Pietro a concerned look, moving a hand to rest on the back of the young man's head. "Have you two fallen out?"

Pietro almost laughed. _Fallen out?!_ He thought bitterly, biting back the hysterically resentful laugh that was itching his chest. _Yeah, you could say fallen out. How about he wants to see me dead for no apparent reason? How about he's tried to murder me more than once and almost succeeded? How about I should… I should really tell you about this…_

His thoughts trailed off.

"I get it, you know." Clint was talking again. "Fell out with my mentor all the time… Heck, before shield, my mentor beat the shit outta me and left me for dead on the side of the road…" He muttered that last part and then shook his head, as if banishing a bad memory. "That's a story for another time… But if you and Zaine have disagreed on something then I'm sure we can fix it. He won't-"

"Clint." Pietro interrupted, forcing words past a lump in his throat. "We haven't fallen out. It's fine."

The archer tilted his head to the side a little. "You sure?"

Pietro nodded, trying to look convincing. "I just… I just didn't want him to see me like that. I feel like I let him down, getting shot and all… I didn't want to make him feel like I wasn't using his training…"

Clint still looked slightly dubious but nodded anyway, moving a hand to absently pat Pietro's head. "Alright… And, hey, you didn't let him down. It was just a mistake, we've all made mistakes... But any problems, you let me know, okay?" Pietro nodded in agreement and Clint's face broke into a small smile. "Good… Now, do you wanna try sitting up?" He asked gently, eyes softening at Pietro's pointedly tired sigh. "We'll take it slow this time. And you don't have to do anything on your own Pietro. Please remember that."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N- Okay, this chapter was suggested by AsgardianGrizzly. It's a little bit of Zaine's backstory (the bits in italics- e.g. all but a couple of lines- are memories/flashbacks). Lots of you guys are asking for more hurt Pietro, so I'm sorry this doesn't have much of that- the next chapter will be pure Pietro fluff, I promise. But for now, enjoy :)**

* * *

 _"Costel!"_

 _Zaine Dyson looked up from where he was helping an elderly man into a seat on one of the lifeboats._

 _The city was going to fall any moment. Fury had sent agents along with the lifeboats. Their task was to help civilians out, to defend them from any Ultron copies that might try to attack the lifeboats. They were under strict instructions not to interfere with the avengers._

 _"No, Costel!"_

 _Agent Dyson sat the man down and ran to the edge of the lifeboat, looking across the desolate land to the city. Then he saw a sight that made his blood freeze, his mind working in overdrive._

 _Clint Barton- Hawkeye, the most human of all the avengers- was running across a stretch of rock towards the lifeboat. The Quinjet zoomed through the sky towards him, pummelling bullets against the rock, throwing dust into the air as it went. Clint had no chance of outrunning the merciless guns._

 _Zaine began to run not entirely sure what he'd do when he reached the archer, just wanting to help in some way. Barton had turned to face away from the bullets, heroically attempting to shield the young boy in his arms. Zaine was so close now, heart pounding with the sudden rush of adrenaline._

 _A flash of blue obscured his vision, a rush of air whipping at his face._

 _When his vision cleared, his stomach gave an uncomfortable twist at the sight he was greeted with._

 _Pietro, the male of the Maximoff twins, previously an ally and experiment of Hydra, was stood, bullet-ridden and swaying unsteadily, hands still raised slightly from where he'd pushed Clint out of the way. The archer looked up, flashing a quick glance down at the boy in his arms before looking to the side, his eyes locking with Pietro's._

 _"You didn't see that coming…" The young man croaked weakly._

 _Pietro collapsed, the thump as he hit the ground seeming unnaturally loud. Zaine watched as Barton put the boy down beside a car, which had been turned up on its side, and rushed to crouch next to Pietro. Clint touched a hand to his back, obviously checking for any signs that he was still alive._

 _Captain Rogers hurried over to them, looking down at the young man with grief and a mournful question plastered over his grimy face. Zaine approached slowly, cautiously._

 _"He's still breathing." Clint reported after pressing two fingers against Pietro's neck and hovering his hand close to the young man's mouth. "Help me turn him over."_

 _Steve crouched beside his ally, working with Clint to move Pietro as carefully as possible while still working against the clock. The city could fall at any second, they all knew that._

 _"Hey!" Zaine snapped his gaze to Clint as the avenger called across to him. "You a shield agent?" Dyson nodded and Clint gestured back to the boy he'd put beside the car. "Take him to the lifeboat, his sister's on one of the front rows."_

 _Zaine gave a brisk nod, burning with resentment that he'd been dismissed as a casual shield agent. He could've been a hero if that kid hadn't got in the way. Even if Pietro died, he'd still be better than Zaine, still be more important than him. When Dyson got close enough, he could hear Clint speaking to the Maximoff kid._

 _"You gotta be strong for me kid. You gotta hold on, just hold on a little bit longer."_

 _Stomach tight with irritation, Zaine picked up the boy and walked briskly to the lifeboat. He could've got Clint out the way, and he would've done it without getting himself shot full of bullets. Pietro had just saved an avenger, making five seconds of his life get him more respect than Zaine had managed to earn in fifteen years of shield training._

 _Reaching the lifeboat, agent Dyson passed the boy down to a young woman, who'd been calling her brother's name. She took him in her arms, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed her thanks to Zaine._

 _"You're welcome." He murmured in reply, turning to walk off._

 _"Wait, please, is he okay?"_

 _Zaine looked over his shoulder, down at the boy's sister. "Is who okay?"_

 _"That man." The woman said, quickly correcting herself. "Both those men actually. The ones who saved my brother… I-I saw someone fall." She swallowed, her voice faint and slightly strained as she asked, "Is he dead…? The one with the white hair?"_

 _Zaine clenched his jaw, part of him wishing that the guy was already gone, part of him wishing the guy was suffering for stealing his glory. "I'm not sure." He muttered. "He was alive when he fell but he's probably dead now… He_ was _shot with a machine gun."_

 _The woman stifled a sob, kissing the top of her brother's head. Zaine strode off, soon finding himself behind the seats where Clint Barton sat. Pietro lay beside him, his recently bandaged chest moving weakly as he struggled to breathe. Zaine remained behind them, out of sight as Clint tried to coax the young man into waking up._

 _"Come on, just open your eyes… Gotta know if your heart can take it…" Barton murmured, distractedly playing with strands of Pietro's hair. He moved his hand to the side of Pietro's jaw, turning his head so he faced the archer._ _"Damn it kid, wake up."_

 _Suddenly Pietro's lips parted slightly and he let out a breathless gasp, barely loud enough to detect. Clint ran a hand through his dusty, white hair, using the other to wipe traces of blood from Pietro's lips. Eyes flickering open, Pietro's misty, unfocused blue irises drifted over Clint's face. The archer lay a hand to his chest, above his heart. Part of Zaine knew it was beating, faintly, but still beating. Part of him wanted to smile as Pietro let out a choked gasp, blood escaping his mouth and sliding down his jaw._

 _"Sorry, sorry." Clint apologised quickly, wiping at his lips again, cleaning the blood off his face. "Oh you are such a moron. You're so damn reckless. So young… Why the hell did you take those bullets for me?"_

 _"Cl… Cli…" Pietro attempted to gasp out something but the words refused to form, noises hitching in his throat. He sounded like he was in so much pain._ Serves you right for getting in the way, _Zaine thought to himself smugly._ I wouldn't have gotten myself hurt that badly, if at all.

 _"Shh, shh…" Clint hushed Pietro softly, his voice oddly gentle, kinder than Zaine could ever remember him sounding. "Don't try to talk. Rest now, okay? You go to sleep… You'll wake up in the tower, and Wanda is going to be there. Nothing else is going to hurt you. I promise."_

 _Pietro's eyes slipped shut, a soft breath exhaling from his lips. His head fell to the side slightly, limp against Clint's hand._

 _Zaine sneered, turning and striding to the edge of the lifeboat, hands behind his back as he watched the lifeboat enter the opening in the hellicarrier, landing with a slight thump on the marked floor._

* * *

 _"Agent Dyson!"_

 _Zaine paused, looking over his shoulder to see Nicholas Fury stood behind him, beckoning him to a room on his right._

 _"A word please."_

 _Gritting his teeth hard, Zaine gave a brisk nod, turning and striding over to the director of shield, following him into the room. Fury shut the door behind them, pacing up and down the room in front of Zaine, his hands moving to join in front of his face, his fingertips touching his lips._

 _Zaine waited in silence, his expression unwavering as Fury turned to him, moving his hands to match Dyson's stance._

 _"You've put me in a difficult situation Dyson." Fury muttered finally, meeting the agent's level stare. "I gave you a strict order not to interfere with the avengers' work… And now one of them is dying. Stark is refusing to give up on the kid, Barton won't leave his side, the whole team's a mess Zaine-"_

 _"With respect, sir." Zaine cut in, his frustration building. "It wasn't my fault Maximoff jumped in front of a machine gun."_

 _Fury blinked calmly. "Reports say Pietro might have wasted time getting you out the way…"_

 _"That's not what happened!" Zaine raised his voice slightly, anger rushing through him. Though he denied it, his memory was slightly fuzzy. Had he felt Pietro's hands pushing him back…? No… No he couldn't have…_

 _Fury shook his head, waving a hand to cut off Zaine's protests. "The reports may have been wrong, Maximoff was moving so fast… None the less, you did disobey orders, so I'm afraid you've left me with no choice… I'm taking your membership down two levels."_

 _Zaine's lips parted slightly speechless with shock. "Sir, you… You can't… I worked hard for my level-"_

 _"I know, but you need to be put in check." Fury pointed out, slowly making his way towards the door before halting and turning back to the agent. "The Maximoff boy, he'll need training if he recovers. Can I leave his mentoring up to you…? He'll be an avenger, I'd like you to train him to live up to that title."_

 _Dyson gave a curt nod. "Yes sir, of course."_

 _Fury returned his action, striding out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him and Zaine let out a soft, angry growl._

 _Demoted?! Fury had taken his membership down_ two _levels! He was trying to help Barton and he was being punished?!_

 _Zaine clenched his fists._

 _This was all that kid's fault. If Pietro hadn't tried to be a hero like the arrogant prat he was, none of this would have happened. He was the one responsible for Zaine's reduction in membership. Sure as hell, Zaine would make him wish he had never been born._

 _With a yell of frustration, agent Dyson whipped round striking a fist against the wall._

Suddenly reality kicked in and present-day Pietro fell backwards, knocked down from the force of his mentor's attack. Blood welled from a fresh cut on his lower lip. He slowly shifted himself into a sitting position, hesitantly touching his fingers to the injury, drawing his hand back to see blood coating his skin.

Zaine took a step back, staring aimlessly at the young man. The flashback still swam in his mind, the memory of why he was doing this clearer than ever.

This was Pietro's first session since the shooting incident and Zaine had assured Clint that it would only be a short one, just to get the young man used to training again. It was supposed to be a light practice. Light practice to Zaine meant he would try his hardest not to actually kill the kid. But that didn't mean he wouldn't be hurting him. He was sure Pietro's injuries must be unbearably painful, but the young man knew better than to complain.

Looking down at Pietro, Zaine sneered at his creation. Because he had done this. He'd created this wreck, this shell of a once strong man. He knew Pietro was slowly breaking; he never missed the flash of fear that entered Pietro's innocently blue irises whenever he saw his mentor.

But he hadn't frightened him into obedience yet. Pietro would still talk back, snap resistance, refuse some orders Zaine would command of him. It wouldn't take much longer for his spark to fade.

Zaine would crush his spirit. Sooner or later, Pietro wouldn't be able to find a reason to keep fighting.

* * *

 **A/N- Also, sidenote, Civil war is amazing! Went to see it on Friday and re-watched it today- so damn impressive. Worthy of recommendation.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

A sharp hand struck the side of Pietro's face, leaving his cheek stinging. He instinctively raised a hand to touch his skin, eyes narrowed in pain.

"I told you to keep quiet."

Pietro looked up, meeting agent Dyson's menacing glare levelly. "I haven't said anything." He murmured, briefly noting how dull his voice had become since Zane had been assigned to his mentoring duties. "I haven't told anyone anything."

"Because you know they wouldn't believe you." Zaine hissed, taking a step closer to Pietro, who backed off slightly, wincing a little as if he could already feel Dyson hitting him. "No one would listen to a single word… You really are extraordinarily insignificant."

Swallowing uncomfortably at the truth in his words, Pietro looked to the side, as if maybe Zaine wouldn't be able to detect how much his words hurt if he wasn't looking at him. Zaine reached a hand up to gently touch the side of Pietro's jaw, turning his head to force the young man to make eye contact.

"What are you Pietro?" He asked softly.

Pietro turned his head away from his mentor's fingers. "I am an avenger."

Zaine's expression contorted into rage and his hand flew to Pietro cheek. He gripped Pietro's jaw, roughly forcing his head up, hissing the words against the young man's face.

"Pietro… What are you?"

Pietro didn't reply, stubbornly refusing to meet his mentor's eyes. Zaine tightened his grip on the kid's jaw, a clear warning that Pietro once again refused to answer. A clenched fist slammed against his chest, the force causing him to stagger back a pace before Zaine landed another punch to his face, smacking against the side of his jaw.

Pietro stumbled down to the ground, as blood welled in his mouth, sliding over his lips and dripping down his chin. Zaine pinned him again the wall, his forearm to Pietro's throat. The blood Pietro had tried to swallow seemed to only succeed on sticking his airway shut, the increasing pressure of Dyson's forearm making the task of breathing all but impossible. Gripping his hands to Zaine's arm, Pietro tried to escape his mentor's grip but he only pressed harder, so Pietro quickly fell still, struggling to breathe as Dyson leaned forward, his menacing stare burning against Pietro's sky blue eyes.

"What are you?"

Pietro gulped in a shaky breath, half drowning on the blood in his throat. But he managed to speak, managed to push a single breathless word past his bloodstained lips. "Insignificant..."

Zaine released him and Pietro drew in a heaving breath, falling to his side as he coughed and spluttered, blooding dribbling from between his lips. As he choked the crimson liquid into the floor, he heard Zaine's voice again, half growling into his ear.

"Well done… You're learning."

Spitting blood onto the floor, Pietro looked up at his mentor, a deep loathing glinting in his eyes. Zaine took a menacing step forward and Pietro scrambled back, certain his fear showed as Dyson stopped, giving a cruel smile.

"You're pathetic." He muttered, turning and striding towards the door. "We'll continue this tomorrow Maximoff. You'd better go and get some rest… You're gonna need it."

The door slammed shut behind him and Pietro, now that he was alone, allowed himself to sink to the floor, lying in a foetal position up against the wall. His throat hurt, his face hurt, his chest… He felt like he was about to be sick, his stomach churning uncomfortably. Swallowing so much blood can't have been good and now he was feeling the effects of it even more.

Leaping up suddenly, he put on a sprint, racing to the nearest bathroom in a flash of blue. He immediately gripped the edges of the sink, chest heaving violently as he vomited a coppery-tasting mixture from his mouth. Fingers clenching against the cold surface, he used the sink to support himself as he retched and choked.

The sound of heavy footsteps was barely registered but the strong hand resting on his shoulder was a small comfort.

"You are ill and weary young warrior." A deep, noble voice murmured. "You must rest soon… Your strength is… wasted…"

Pietro shakily lifted his head, slowly opening his eyes to see the kind face of Thor gazing down at him. The sight he saw turning his head back had him choking out another mouthful of metallic tinted liquid.

It was blood.

Of course it had to be blood.

The crimson liquid completely covered the white bowl, slipping down the sides of the sink to drip down the drain. The smell carried hints of salt and rust, that factor alone making Pietro gag. And then there was the mere feeling of the blood ejecting from his mouth, the taste of it coating his tongue. It was horrible.

Pietro spat the last of the blood from his mouth, feeling the warm liquid had crept down his jaw to drip against his neck. He didn't want to think about the state he was in, so he didn't face his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He still gripped the edges of the white bowl, not trusting his legs to hold him up.

"Pietro..." Thor murmured quietly, repositioning his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Come, you need medical attention."

Pietro just shook his head, refusing the offer. "No..." He rasped breathlessly, hating himself for sounding so weak. "No, I-I'm okay... I don't... don't want... to..." Voice trailing off, Pietro's legs trembled and gave in, causing him to collapse against Thor's chest.

The Asgardian caught himself skilfully, his movements uncharacteristically gentle as he eased Pietro to the ground, cradling the kid in his arms. "You are not okay young one. You have a sickness." He rested his hand to the side of Pietro's face, moving up to feel his head. "Your forehead is burning. A fever has already taken hold."

Pietro blinked hard, forcing his eyes to focus. "I'm not going to the doctors." He insisted quietly, struggling to sit up. "Please, I don't want to see them… It's nothing, people just get sick sometimes…"

"There is more to this Pietro." Thor murmured, his eyes scanning Pietro face carefully. He shook his head and helped Pietro to sit up. "But if you do not want medicine, I cannot make you have it." He got to his feet and, to Pietro's surprise, held a hand out to him. "But I am taking you to your room. You need rest and you shall not train tomorrow."

Pietro held his gaze for a moment, inspecting the serious nature of his eyes before giving a slight nod. He took Thor's hand, doing his best not to wince as the Asgardian helped him to his feet. Thor looked at him sceptically, and Pietro lifted his head, the slightest hint of defiance in his expression, as if daring Thor to comment on his worn-out appearance.

But Thor simply inclined his head to the side. "Come… Can you walk?"

Truthfully, Pietro wasn't exactly sure, but, regardless, he nodded. He wouldn't show any further signs of weakness, not if he could help it.

Thor led the way out of the room, striding down the corridor and making a left. Following him, Pietro did his best not to limp, not to falter as he walked behind Thor for what seemed like far too many steps. Reaching his room, Pietro twisted the handle, opening the door, stepping and turning back to Thor, who stood in the doorway.

"Thank you for bringing me back." He muttered, then lowered his gaze. "Would you mind… would you mind not telling anyone about this? I'd prefer to keep it between us."

Thor frowned, tilting his head to the side slightly. "Is there a reason?"

Pietro shook his head a little. "I just don't want people to worry… Please. Don't tell anyone, not Zaine, not Wanda, and certainly not Clint."

Eyes narrowing in confusion, Thor took a moment to consider before giving a small nod, seeming to accept his words. "Okay… But if I do not tell anyone, you must promise me something too." Pietro inclined his head, offering the Asgardian to name his conditions. "You must not train tomorrow, you must rest now and you must give me the key to your room."

Pietro looked at him curiously, but handed over the key anyway, pressing it to Thor's large, outstretched hand. "Why?"

"Because I will return in two hours." Thor murmured deeply, casting a serious look back over his shoulder as he turned to leave. "And if you are not asleep, or at least trying to sleep, I will tell Clint what happened… I will tell Clint and I will get him to take you to the doctors himself." He blinked down at the young man, moving a hand to rest against his shoulder. "Is that fair?"

Pietro held his stare for a moment, finding compassion and kindness in his otherwise serious eyes. A slight sigh was exhaled from his lips and he lowered his gaze, nodding. "Yes... That's fair… Thor!" He called after the Asgardian as he began to walk away. "Thank you."

* * *

Thor twisted the key into the lock, turning the handle and slowly, silently pushing open the door. He peered in, a small smile curving his lips at the scene in the room.

Pietro was asleep.

It was such a rare sight; Thor wasn't sure he'd ever seen the young man sitting, let alone sleeping. He had only meant to take a glance, yet he wanted to be certain, so Thor quietly stepped into the room, lightly shutting the door behind him.

Pietro lay sprawled on his back in his double bed, one arm bent up so his hand rested beside his head on the pillow, the other was flung out to the side, visible to Thor as the duvet was pulled down to his chest. Moving closer, Thor could hear the young man was whimpering softly, twitching and shifting restlessly as if he was suffering from a particularly bad nightmare.

Thor halted beside Pietro's bed, looking down at him with a concerned frown. Reaching down, he gently lay his hand to Pietro's forehead. Heat radiated from his pale skin. Pietro turned his head to face away from the Asgardian, his fingers clenching, grasping the soft pillow as his face twitched a little.

The way his head was angled now meant Thor could see them. He could see the scars slashed against the side of Pietro's neck. And suddenly he was aware of all of them, all the dark crimson, jagged marks littering Pietro's bare chest. Bruises had faded through in some places, the worst ones around his ribs and left collarbone, which looked fractured, or maybe even broken.

Pietro gave a quiet, indecipherable murmur, turning onto his side so he faced Thor. If he opened his eyes now… Thor was curious to see how he would react. But he didn't want to wake him, and he knew he shouldn't stay for long.

Casting a final glance back at Pietro, Thor made his way out of the room, sliding the key under the door when he had locked it. It felt wrong turning away. Walking away from Pietro when he was obviously having a rough time didn't appeal to Thor at all. But he had made a promise. He swore he wouldn't tell anyone, he swore he'd just check up on him to see if Pietro had kept his side of the deal. And he had.

Still, he wished he didn't have to keep what had happened to himself. Pietro obviously needed help… But who could give it to him?


	12. Chapter 12

"Again."

Pietro sent another roundhouse kick against Zaine's shoulder. His mentor ducked, cuffing him round the head before slamming a knee into Pietro's ribs.

"Again." He repeated sternly, ignoring the fact that Pietro was clearly in pain, a hand protectively holding the side of his chest. "How many times, you need to twist your body so you can aim higher."

Pietro shook his head, falling back against the wall. "I can't… It hurts…"

"Shame." Zaine commented unsympathetically, grasping the front of Pietro's shirt and harshly pulling him forward, so he couldn't take support from the wall. "Control your pain you whining child… The others have had it much worse than this."

Swallowing back the pain, Pietro gritted his teeth and aimed another kick, reaching slightly higher this time. Zaine grabbed his foot and shoved upwards, causing Pietro to fall onto his back with a sharp exhale of pain. He rolled over as Zaine's fist came flying at his face.

His mentor's knuckles slammed against the stone where Pietro's head had previously been. The young man leapt up and darted to the side, fists raised in a defensive position as Zaine whipped around with a glare. There was a frenzy of punches, a fighting sequence so complex that Pietro could barely keep up, or even register what was happening.

He could use his power but Zaine would probably try to kill him, so Pietro settled with trying to defend himself as best he could. He blocked Zaine's fist as it flew at his face, ducked under a second punch that followed, skilfully dodging out of Zaine's line of fire.

Finally, Zaine's knee met his stomach and the agent used Pietro doubling over as an opportunity to land a fierce kick to the young man's throat. Then Pietro was on the floor again, a hand clutching his neck, the other raised in Zaine's direction, silently pleading for him to wait.

Pietro supposed he would've been surprised when Zaine didn't try to attack, but he was choking too hard to notice much else. His breathing was coming out in rapid, wheezing gasps and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control it.

"Guh!" He choked some indecipherable sounds, coughing violently. "Uh…"

"What did I say about controlling yourself boy?" Zaine growled in frustration, his eyes sharpening as a soft beeping noise echoed through the room. "Damn it!"

Pietro's watch was going off again, indicating that he had five minutes to take his injection. Once he had found out that Clint nearly always came to check on Pietro at this point, Zaine had made sure Pietro took it on time, or he feared Barton would become suspicious. He wondered if Clint already suspected him- he wouldn't let Zaine into Pietro's room after the kid had been shot for the second time. He didn't want to give Clint any reasons to mistrust him.

Zaine dug his hands into a pocket on Pietro's trousers, the one he kept his medication in on the side of his thigh. Pulling out the case, he flicked it open and began arranging an injection needle.

"You cough once while Barton's here and I'll make your life a living hell." He warned as a hiss, harshly jabbing the needle into Pietro's arm.

"Ah!" Pietro gasped in pain, hanging his head as Zaine slowly injected the liquid.

A hand touched the side of his head, the gentle nature of Zaine's voice letting him know Clint had come. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry. I know it hurts, but you gotta take it, okay…? Is it worse than last time? I don't think it's supposed to hurt."

"Everything okay?" Clint's voice met Pietro's ears but he didn't open his eyes, depending on his hearing to inform him that Clint was kneeling beside him.

"I think so." Zaine replied quietly. "But I don't think he likes needles… Bad memories, you know?"

The needle was pulled from his arm, a lot gentler than when it was put in, and Pietro blinked open his eyes. Clint and Zaine were looking at him with anxious expressions- though Clint's was genuine and Pietro knew Zaine was as far from concerned as possible.

"You alright kid?" Clint asked gently, moving a hand to Pietro's shoulder. Then he frowned, moving to brush his fingers against the side of Pietro's jaw. "What happened here then?"

Judging by the pricking pain in that area, Pietro guessed he'd been cut. It was probably from the scuffle with Zaine.

"Scratch." Pietro muttered, wiping the back of his hand to it.

It was too soon after his injection for him to think properly. He couldn't come up with an excuse on the spot. As he drew his hand back, he caught sight of a thin streak of blood, seeming sharper against his pale complexion.

"It was my fault." Zaine said unexpectedly; the guilt in his eyes looked so real that Pietro might have been fooled if he didn't know the truth. "We were practicing defence and he didn't duck in time… I know, we shouldn't have been using weapons, he could've got seriously hurt… but he said he was ready."

Clint held his gaze for a moment; Pietro could almost see him thinking, considering Zaine's words. The agent had ducked his head, so he looked as though he was genuinely apologising for his actions.

"I think that's enough training for today." Clint muttered eventually, his voice holding a silent command that Zaine didn't argue with. The archer offered a hand to Pietro and the young man shot Zaine the briefest glance before taking it, allowing Barton to help him to his feet. "You should clean yourself up… Do you need help getting back to your room or-"

"I'm fine." Pietro murmured, withholding the urge to rub his neck. "I can manage."

Not bothering to wait for Clint to object, he turned and walked out of the room-doing his best not to limp until he was out of sight.

He and Zaine had both lied right to Clint's face… and he hadn't given the slightest hint that he had any idea what was really going on. Pietro began to wonder if he would ever realise why he was constantly getting hurt. Maybe one day Clint would figure out why Pietro couldn't sleep. Perhaps he'd begin to understand that Pietro spent his days locked in his room because he didn't want them to see how bad his injuries were.

Or maybe Clint was already on his way to talk to someone about his concerns regarding Pietro.

* * *

"Cap? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Steve aimed a final punch, his fist sinking satisfyingly into the punch bag before looking over his shoulder. Clint Barton, who had spoken, stood against the wall near the door, his arms crossed. A worried frown was set upon his face.

"What is it?" Steve asked anxiously, half-running to the archer. Clint only came to him with that expression when it was really serious. He'd come to Steve twice before, once when he'd been concerned for the safety of his family, the other when Pietro had been fighting for his life in a medic room after the battle. "What's wrong?"

Clint shook his head, a hint of confusion etching his gaze. "I don't know… I mean…" He sighed. "It's Pietro… I want you to talk to him."

Steve tilted his head to the side. He and Pietro weren't close, not in the slightest; Clint had a much better chance in talking to him than Steve did. "About what?"

"I think…" Clint's voice trailed off and he shook his head. "No, I _know_. He's not coping… He says he's fine but he isn't, I know he isn't. I haven't seen him eat anything for days, he's constantly getting hurt. I think he's doing it on purpose… Every time I see him there's a new cut or bruise and he makes up some half-assed excuse about tripping over or running into something and I just… I can't watch it happen anymore…"

"Clint…" Steve murmured, his voice full of sympathy, his eyes soft as he looked down at his friend.

"He won't let me help him." Clint continued, pouring out all his troubles to Steve as if he'd been wanting to tell someone this for weeks. "I tried to talk to him but every time I got close he'd shut me out again or we'd be interrupted and it would throw him off…" He paused for a moment, shutting his eyes and exhaling a slow breath. "He won't talk to me." He muttered evenly, forcing emotion from his voice. "Can you try? He might listen to you."

Steve narrowed his eyes worriedly. "I haven't seen him for days… I asked Stark and he says the kid only comes out for training and, occasionally, food…" He looked at Clint curiously, tilting his head slightly. "You think he's hurting himself on purpose, did you say?"

Clint nodded, a glint of grief entering his irises. "You should see him… His wrists…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head sadly. "He needs help Steve… He needs it now, before he…" Clint swallowed uncomfortably but Steve guessed what he was afraid of.

"Okay…" He murmured gently, nodding once to assure Clint he understood. "Okay, I'll talk to him."

* * *

 **A/N- This wasn't a request, but someone said this story would be good for Cap to come in, so this happened.**

 **Thanks for sticking with this story guys!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N- Sorry this took ages. Most of the first section was a suggestion by AsgardianGrizzly- thank you again.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

Tony faltered in the kitchen doorway. The sight of Pietro out of his room was a rare thing.

Pietro didn't seem to have noticed him, busy stirring absently at a mug of something steaming. Lifting a hand, he carded his fingers through his white-blonde hair, smoothing strands back out of his face. Tony saw him wince, saw him drop his hand to his shoulder, massaging it carefully.

Had the kid hurt himself? Honestly, Tony didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. He wasn't close to the kid, meaning he couldn't just go up to him and ask 'out-of-the-blue' if he'd hurt his shoulder recently. He'd have to start subtle and then delve into it a little- check how he answered simple questions.

Tony went about his task normally, walking up to the counter Pietro was stood at to fetch a mug out the cupboard. He didn't miss Pietro's hand abruptly dropping from his shoulder and the fact that Pietro had jumped as though receiving an electric shock told Tony he was feeling particularly anxious at the moment. It was all quite suspicious, Tony reflected.

The kid hadn't been this bad when he was at his worst- shortly after the battle when Doctor Cho had led him round the tower on a short walk, so that he might begin to strengthen his legs again. Even then, he'd had more colour in his face, though maybe that was just because he hadn't been used to walking for a while and it was quite a 'shock to his system'.

Tony had practically walked into him, lost in thought as he rounded a corner and almost knocking the kid over. Thankfully, Helen had been there, and since she'd been supporting Pietro anyway, it wasn't hard for her to keep him upright.

"Christ, sorry." Tony had babbled, the words tumbling at the shock of seeing the young man. "Hey, you-you're up.."

Pietro had simply hummed in agreement. He'd been panting slightly and Tony briefly worried that Helen was pushing him too hard, before realising she'd never do anything to risk someone's safety. Still, he asked if Pietro was alright and the kid let doctor Cho answer for him, so Tony presumed he trusted her.

"He's doing very well… Getting better every day."

Tony had considered him to look sickly back then, but it was nothing compared to the pallor of his skin now. Why did he look so ill?

"Hey kid." He greeted colloquially, positioning his mug beneath the coffee machine.

"Stark…" Pietro muttered in reply, not looking up- on the contrary he seemed to be trying to subtly hide his face.

But that didn't mean Tony couldn't see the damage.

Stark regarded the kid closely, immediately noticing the darkness under his eyes, one more so than the other. Those were bruises littered over his fair skin. Tony had received enough of them to know. And, now that he was looking for them, he discovered cuts- sharp and red against his pale complexion- sliced into his face and neck.

"Kid…" He murmured, causing Pietro to turn his hollow, shadowed eyes onto him. "You okay…? You… You look a bit rough."

Pietro shrugged, but the action was stiff and jerky, cutting short with a slight wince of pain. "Yeah, I- I'm fine…"

Tony frowned at the wall, his mind whirling. He wasn't close enough to the kid to be questioning his physical or mental health, but he'd seen this kind of thing before. The signs were so clear it was a miracle no one had noticed yet; Pietro's face alone was evidence enough, god knows the kind of state the rest of his body was in.

Whoever had done this needed to be put in check because, no matter what Pietro said, Tony knew for sure that he was being used as someone's personal punch bag.

Tony tried to continue casually, feeling like he needed to get as much confirmation as he could. "Your shoulder hurting?"

Pietro hedged an "I guess, a little" but Tony wasn't having that.

"Want me to get someone to take a look at it?"

Pietro shook his head, a little too quickly. "No, it's okay. It's not that bad."

"How'd it happen?"

There was a moment of silence before Pietro muttered, "Tripped."

Tony's face twitched into a frown briefly before he moved forward and gently touched the young man's shoulder. Pietro flinched and Tony raised his hands submissively.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." He apologised fervently, anxiousness creeping into his eyes as Pietro raised a hand to his shoulder, massaging it carefully. "You- you should really get that checked kid. It could be something serious."

Pietro shook his head again; Tony quickly noted that he swallowed before speaking. "It's okay, it's fine." He glanced at Tony, his eyes dull. " _I'm_ fine."

"Are you?" Tony asked gently, trying to hide the disbelief from his voice.

Pietro didn't answer, swallowing again, hard, before he looked away. A long, uncomfortable silence stretched out, during which Tony tried and failed to question the kid once more, opening and closing his mouth silently for a moment as he absently stirred his coffee.

"Are…" He began quietly, causing Pietro to glance up at him wearily. "Are you taking anything?"

Pietro's forehead furrowed into a frown. "I don't understand…"

Tony set his spoon down purposefully on the table, speaking slowly and carefully. "You know… are you on anything? Like drugs or-"

"No." Pietro replied firmly, leading Tony to believe that he may have hit a nerve. "No, I don't do that anymore."

"Okay…" Tony murmured, nodding once to show he believed him. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just thought- I mean you- you haven't really been yourself recently and the others, they-"

Pietro cut him off with a hard glare. "And what is myself like…? Do you have any idea? No. Don't pretend to know me, because you don't. You don't know anything about me."

And with that he was gone, disappeared in a flash of blue, leaving his mug abandoned on the counter, leaving an irritated Tony silently cursing himself and his mundane social skills.

* * *

Pietro was knocked to the ground, landing with a hard thump on the training room floor.

"I told you not to use your power!"

Blinking blood from his eyes, Pietro raised his head to meet the furious gaze of his mentor, towering over him menacingly. He'd become desperate, panicky to the point of using a burst of speed to escape Zaine's grasp. He had panicked. He wasn't supposed to panic, it had always set his power off in the Hydra base.

Zaine let out a frustrated breath, gripping the collar of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. "God, who taught you how to fight?" A cruel smile split the agent's features. "Was it your whore mother or your brat of a sist-?"

The words had barely left his lips before Pietro's clenched fist met his face. Anger provoked him into using his power, his face a mask of livid fury as he pummelled Zaine over and over. His mentor could abuse Pietro all he liked, but the young man forbade anyone to speak of his family like that.

White hot pain surged from his neck, spreading through his entire body, and he gave a yell of anguish and shock, collapsing to the side. Zaine got to his feet, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand and staring down at Pietro coldly.

"You attack me again-" He spat at Pietro's shivering form. "-and I'll do that until you lose your mind. Believe me, I will torture you into insanity until you won't even recognise your precious sister…" He leant down to fix his dark eyes on Pietro's ocean blue irises. "Do you want me to do it again?"

Pietro shook his head feebly. "Wha… What is that…?"

"That pain came from part of a shock collar I embedded into the back of your neck as you slept… Course, I had to chloroform you, and I may have modified it a little. Barton does have such excellent arrows. Now, you didn't answer me-" He kicked Pietro over so he lay on his back, gazing up at him through half open eyes. "Shall I do it again? Or do you apologize for hitting me?"

Pietro gave his head another shake. "Not again… 'm sorry" He wheezed, blinking hard to clear his sight. "Please, no more… I-I'm sorry."

Agent Dyson planted a foot on his chest, pressing down hard until Pietro grunted his discomfort. "Not yet." He whispered fiercely, taking a small black switch from his pocket. "You're not sorry yet… but you will be."

Pietro narrowed his eyes pleadingly. "No… No, please. Please, I'm sorry. I'm s-" His voice was cut off as the shock rushed through his body. A terrible scream of pain escaped his lips as he writhed and thrashed on the ground. And Zaine watched him suffer, letting him scream, listening… laughing.


	14. Chapter 14

Pietro's eyes flickered open.

Zaine leant over him, his cold eyes boring into Pietro's. The younger man turned his head to the side slightly, wincing in pain as he rolled over to push himself up. It was hard- everything hurt.

"We don't have all day you know." Zaine snapped impatiently.

Pietro staggered to his feet, a hand cradled against his ribs. They must be broken by now, every breath felt like someone was stabbing him in the chest. His leg felt twisted, cracked, so he could barely stand, let alone fight back. He couldn't fight back, not if he wanted to stay alive. He didn't want to be electrocuted again.

Zaine struck a hand to the side of his face; the force of his action caused Pietro's head to turn slightly but he didn't flinch. He didn't fight. Another sharp slap and then, Zaine's fist clenched and he landed a punch to the side of Pietro's jaw.

Something cracked and Pietro felt hot blood coat his tongue. He reached a hand to his mouth, feeling along his teeth and finding one hanging loosely, blood welling at its base. Zaine gripped his jaw causing Pietro to let out a grunt of indignation, trying to snatch his head out if his mentors grip.

"Stay still!" Zaine ordered, forcing his mouth open with one hand, grasping a handful of Pietro's hair with the other, forcing him to obey.

Using his thumb, he pulled the corner of Pietro's lower lip down, angling to the side a little to get a better view of his broken tooth. He smiled cruelly, releasing Pietro and allowing the kid to take a step back.

"Did that hurt little boy?" He mocked spitefully. "You want Barton to come and fuss over you, make you go see the doctors? Yeah, I heard him talking to you about your shoulder."

He touched Pietro's ribs, pressing his fingers down as he felt along the bones. Pietro clenched his teeth but even that hurt now. The pain shooting through his ribs was too much. A hand instinctively grabbed Zaine's wrist, forcing his hand back a little. His mentor looked shocked, angry that Pietro would dare to stop him doing something.

"Please don't." Pietro murmured quietly.

Zaine struck a hand to his cheek, causing Pietro to release his hand and instinctively touch the place Zaine's hand had made contact with his skin. "You pathetic, whimpering child." He hissed, rage evident in the stiffness of his voice. "You think you have any right to touch me…? I don't care if you're hurt. I don't care if you're in pain. You don't show it, you understand me?"

Pietro remained silent, swallowing past a lump in his throat. Zaine gripped his jaw, forcing him back against the wall, causing his head to slam against the brick, momentarily stunning him.

"Do you understand?" He growled fiercely.

A little dazed, Pietro blinked hard to clear his eyesight. "Yes…" He mumbled. "I understand. I'm sorry."

Zaine narrowed his eyes distrustfully and slowly released his jaw. "Yes, that's right… because we know what happens when you don't apologise, don't we, Pietro?"

The young man swallowed, nodding. He had no desire to experience that again; he wanted to avoid electrocution as much as he could. Zaine wiped at a cut across the underside of Pietro's jaw.

"You have to be more careful." He muttered, rubbing the scratch. "I think Clint has begun to suspect something's wrong…" He smiled cruelly, drawing his hand away. "About time he noticed, hmm? I thought he was perceptive but it's been a couple of months now and he hasn't said anything to me… well, almost anything… and even then he just said you looked tired." A sneer crossed his face. "Tired… I suppose he's right, but if he thinks that's the only thing wrong… well, he's only human."

Pietro did his best to hide his surprise but Zaine obviously noticed, as a small smirk twitched at his lips.

"I am aware I'm also human, but, I'll be honest, I think I'm one of the more accomplished ones… Now you, Pietro-" He tapped his finger to Pietro's heart. "Pietro Maximoff, you are neither human nor accomplished… You are alone in this world… You are truly and completely alone."

* * *

Pietro staggered into his room, collapsing back against the door as he shut it forcefully. Blood was trickling down his neck now, staining the top of his shirt red. It dribbled from the corner of his mouth and dripped from the side of his jaw, little dots of blood falling onto the grey fabric of his t-shirt.

He dropped his head back against the wooden door, closing his eyes. His ribs were splintered, he could swear he could feel the bones grating together when he moved, sending pain surging through his chest like fire. The entirety of his mouth had an icy pain stabbing it.

Everything hurt like hell. He might lock himself in his room tomorrow. Maybe Zaine would assume he had died and leave him alone. He just needed to rest, just for one day.

Pietro pushed himself off the door and limped to his bed, sitting heavily and rolling down to lie on his side. He only planned on lying for a minute, just to get his breath back, and then he'd go and clean himself up, wash the blood off his face, maybe try to fix his tooth somehow.

But as his head hit the pillow, his mind seemed to remember he hadn't slept in 34 hours and his eyes shut. He had time for one last thought before he slipped out of consciousness.

The door- he hadn't locked the door.

* * *

Reaching out a hand, Steve Rogers knocked three times in the door and stood back to wait. Seconds ticked by- ten- thirty- that was nearly a minute now... He knocked again.

He received no reply.

"Pietro?" He tried quietly, stepping closer to listen for footsteps. "Pietro, it's Steve. Are you in there?"

No answer.

Making a face, as if it disagreed with his morals, he twisted the door handle. To his surprise, it obliged under his touch and he carefully pushed it open.

"Pietro?" He asked quietly, peering round the door. "I'm sorry, the door was-"

His voice broke off at the sight before him and he threw open the door, sprinting to Pietro's side.

The kid was lying on his bed, above the covers so his body was clearly visible. Dark, crimson blood stained the bed sheets, running from Pietro's mouth to spread over the white fabric beneath his face. His eyes were shut, his breathing was ragged.

"Kid?" Steve asked as a whisper, raising his voice when he didn't get a reply. "Pietro, can you hear me?"

With a slight groan, Pietro's eyes fluttered open and, catching sight of Steve, his head shot up. He quickly scrambled into a sitting position, slightly panicked.

"Hey, it's alright, it's alright-" Steve assured him kindly, holding his hands out submissively. "It's okay, it's just me..." He regarded the kid anxiously, seeing the way he held a hand to his ribs. He looked like he was in enough pain for them to be cracked at the very least. "What happened Pietro? Who did this?"

"No one, it's nothing.." Pietro insisted breathlessly, wincing a little as he repositioned his hand. "It was- it was just an accident. I just- I tripped, that's all.. down the stairs- hit my jaw, it was an accident."

"Pietro.." Steve murmured softly, hesitantly touching his shoulder. "You can talk to me you know.. I'm not here to judge you or chastise you, I'm here to help you. And I think you need it Pietro, you need help."

Pietro didn't speak for the longest time, his hand to his ribs still, his eyes set on something to the side. Finally, he turned his head to look at Steve and the soldier was surprised to see dull acceptance in his eyes. "I think I would like to see a doctor." He murmured quietly. "I think I broke a few of my ribs when I tripped."

Steve nodded, forcing himself to look level- calm. "Okay.. Okay, do you need help walking?" Pietro shook his head, carefully shifting himself to sit on the edge of his bed. "Alright, I'll come with you anyway. Just to make sure you get there safely."

Pietro didn't argue, stumbling to his feet. He winced with every step as Steve led him to the door and, as they reached it, he had to lean against the doorframe, a hand cradling his ribs as he caught his breath, his face contorted into a grimace of pain.

"Pietro.." Steve murmured softly. "You can't walk, not like this. You can barely stand.. I can get you a wheelchair-" Pietro shook his head firmly and Steve shut his mouth tightly. He made a mental note not to do anything that might damage Pietro's pride. "Let me help you at least." He gently slipped his arm around Pietro's back, hand resting above his hip. "Put your arm around my shoulders."

Pietro, if reluctantly, did so, and Steve gently shifted the young man's weight onto his shoulders. Steve didn't miss each wince as they walked but he didn't pick him up on it. He didn't challenge Pietro when he stopped, just looked down at him anxiously.

"I… I can't…" He wheezed breathlessly, his eyes shut, his face contorted in pain. "Can't go on… can't…"

"Okay." Steve assured softly, holding Pietro securely. "Okay, it's alright. Come on now…" His other arm moved to the underside of Pietro's legs, lifting him into his arms. Pietro let out a small groan of pain, his head falling back. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I know it hurts but I have to get you to a doctor… Just stay with me, okay…? Stay with me."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N- Thanks for being patient guys, I'm really sorry it's taking me ages to update at the moment. I'll try my best; it might take a while, but I promise, I will get it done eventually. Anyway, really hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Pietro's door was open.

That was enough for Clint to know that something was terribly wrong.

The archer threw the door open, heart hammering in his chest. The room was empty, Pietro was nowhere to be seen. What Clint did see, however, was a dark pool of crimson liquid staining a patch on the sheets at the head of the bed.

Swallowing nervously, Clint's eyes drifted down, following the scattering of blood droplets across the floor. The trail led him down the corridor for several metres and then simply ended. It grew a little heavier and then just stopped.

Clint gritted his teeth, feeling pretty stupid as he looked up at the ceiling. "Friday? Is Stark in his lab?"

"No, Mr Barton." The slightly too polite voice sounded from above. "Would you like me to fetch him for you?"

"No, can you just patch him through?"

"Certainly."

There was silence and then. "What do you want Barton? I'm a busy man y'know… I don't have time for casual chats right now. I'm kinda preoccupied with that stupid kid of yours."

Clint frowned. "What the hell are you on about Stark?"

"Pietro!" Tony replied impatiently, sounding as if it was entirely obvious. "Pietro, god, that boy-"

"I think you've been drinking.." Clint muttered, slightly awkwardly. "He's not mine.. My kid, I mean. He's not-"

"He might as well be, let's be real here Barton." Stark interrupted. "Anyway, Steve found him. I say found, he went looking for him, and he gave the usual spiel about tripping down the stairs and hitting his jaw on something… He's lying, I'm not an idiot."

"Where is he?" Clint asked abruptly.

"Medic room down the corridor and to your left."

Clint took off immediately, sprinting down the hallway and taking a sharp turn before bursting through the doors of the medical room.

Pietro lay on a bed pushed back against the far wall, a hand over his ribs. His face was slick with blood, the crimson liquid coating his jaw, streams running down his neck to stain the top of his t-shirt. His mouth was bleeding heavily, that much Clint knew, and he wasted no time in rushing to stand on the opposite side of the bed to Steve, who was leaning over the kid anxiously.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" Clint asked fearfully, looking down at Pietro.

"He says he fell down the stairs-" He gripped Pietro's shoulder reassuringly as the kid let out a quiet groan, his fingers twitching over his ribs. "Alright Pietro, it's alright.." He glanced to Tony, who stood, phone to his ear, arms crossed in the corner of the room. "Any luck?"

The man shook his head. "No, she isn't picking up. She'll probably be getting ready to leave." He pocketed the device. "I'll go find her."

He ran out of the room and off down the hall, disappearing out of sight. Steve turned back to Pietro, whose jaw was clenched and trembling. "It won't be long." He promised. "Just try to breathe deeply Pietro, it won't be long now."

Pietro shook his head with no real meaning, possibly to try and control the pain, and Clint lay a hand to his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his eyes. The younger man opened his eyes and their gazes locked, both holding the stare for a moment. Pietro, who was breathing heavily at this point, broke the eye contact, groaning as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

Clint stroked his head, his eyes narrowed worriedly. "Who does this to you Pietro?" He whispered softly. "You need to stop pretending. I know you don't get these injuries from falling... Please, tell me the truth, who did this?"

"No one." Pietro hissed through gritted teeth. "I fell."

"Stop lying to me!"

Pietro groaned, though not from pain this time and opened his eyes. "I'm not.. lying... I..." He eyes set on the door and he dropped his head back, swallowing convulsively as he shut his eyes again.

Clint looked behind him, finding Pietro's mentor, Agent Dyson, opening the door. Zaine rushed in, anxiousness etched over his face as he halted beside the bed, looking down at Pietro.

"What happened?" He asked, his eyes flicking to the kid's hand, which still covered his ribs. "What have you done Pietro?"

"Tripped.." Pietro muttered weakly. ".. down the stairs... Hit my chest.."

Zaine frowned his concern, reaching a hand out to take Pietro's hand, moving it to the side and pushing the bottom of his shirt up. His fingers brushed over dark black and purple bruises blossoming over Pietro's ribs. A few bones jutted out beneath his skin like rocks in an otherwise barren landscape. Ribs weren't supposed to be angled like that- it made Clint feel slightly sick.

Zaine touched them and Clint could only assume he'd pressed down because Pietro took in a shaking gasp of pain. The archer snatched the agent's hand away, shoving it back.

"Stop it! You're hurting him!"

Zaine backed away, looking horrified at himself. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Clint wasn't listening to him anymore. His eyes were fixed on Pietro, Pietro whose breathing had grown shallow and rapid, whose eyes were shut, his forehead glistening with cold sweat. Pietro whose chest was heaving faintly, whose ribs were far too prominent. He was starving... Why was he starving?

"Kid?" He whispered, touching Pietro's cheek. "Kid, can you hear me Pietro?" He glared at Zaine. "I think you should leave."

"I want to make sure he's alright." Zaine protested quietly, almost shyly, and then turned to look at his apprentice. "You don't mind, do you Pietro?"

Was it just Clint or was there a hint of menace in his voice? Pietro didn't reply but his hand reached for something, or someone, and Clint took it gently. The pain was too much for him. It would be too much for anyone. His pale lips parted slightly, trembling weakly as he struggled to speak.

"Think 'm gonna... p-pass out... You think I... I'm weak..? I... I-I..."

"Shh, shh..." Clint hushed him softly, touching his lips. "Don't speak, save your strength.. You're not weak Pietro, no one thinks that..." He squeezed his hand gently. "Do you need anything? You want anyone with you? Shall I get Wanda or-?"

"You." Pietro whispered. "Please.. stay..."

Clint nodded. "I'm here. I'll stay with you, no one could stop me."

A small, faint smile touched Pietro's lips, slowly fading as his fingers fell limp in Clint's and he slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

Slits of light broke through the darkness as Pietro's eyes cracked open.

His eyes rolled to each side, trying to catch a glimpse of someone. His fingers twitched weakly, moving reflexively in response to the pain throbbing in his chest. His ribs felt like they were on fire, a burning agony enveloping his entire body.

He couldn't breathe.

"Pietro..? Pietro!"

The light was scaring him. He was sure his eyes were open but there wasn't a ceiling. It was just light.

"Pietro, please.. please, just calm down. Please Pietro…"

Pietro tried to move, to get himself out of this place, but it was impossible. It just hurt too much. His ribs were shattered, feeling like they were cutting him open from the inside. His head was pounding. Everything was disjointed and he got the impression that he was incredibly disorientated.

"Please, you have to get him out. He doesn't understand, please."

"Okay, okay.. Try to calm down Pietro, we'll get you out as soon as we can. Just give it a few seconds, we'll have you out of there."

Pietro thrashed weakly. It hurt him but fear worked him through it. It worked him through the agony hitting his chest, pain like knives grating his ribs. He didn't notice he was moving until a hand rested on his forehead, gently stroking his head before pulling something over his face.

Oxygen mask.

"It's alright Pietro, it's okay…" Hands braced against his shoulders as he squirmed feebly. "Don't struggle, it's okay.. Pietro, please-"

"Oh, Pietro… miláčik, listen, please… Please, Pietro!"

He tried to open his eyes because… that voice… he knew that voice. His irises wouldn't co-operate, however, as his eyes simply rolled back, allowing him to make out only the faintest traces of outlines and light. He continued to fight for no other reason than fear because he was truly terrified now.

"Pietro!" He was certain it was Wanda now and sensed her turn to someone, her voice a desperate scream. "What's wrong with him?!"

"He's disorientated.. Just give me a few minutes to try and calm him down… No- don't sedate him. I won't have him forced to sleep when he's in this state." There was quiet for a moment and then Pietro felt a hand on his jaw, steadying his head. "Kid, listen to me, I know you're scared, okay? I know you're afraid, but you need to try and calm down for me.. Just breathe deeply, I'm right here… I'm right here with you, slow your breathing for me..."

He tried. God, he tried but his lungs couldn't cope. Why was breathing so difficult? Something close to a whimper escaped Pietro's lips. He didn't understand why he couldn't breathe.

"Pietro, kid, come on, you gotta work with me here." The hand moved to his chest, above his heart, somewhat calming him. "Try to breathe deeply… You're gonna be okay.. That's it, good-" He was praised as he managed to force his erratic breaths down a little. "Well done, Pietro, that's really good… Can you show me your eyes for a sec..? You can sleep soon, I promise, I just gotta see your eyes.. You think you can open them for me?"

Pietro's face twitched a little as he tried to place the voice. It was a little rough, but still gentle, knowing. It was Clint. He'd open his eyes for Clint; he'd try at any rate.

It was almost too easy. His eyelids fluttered open when he wanted, his irises gradually coming into focus as he blinked a few times. Sure enough, Clint was leaning over him, a smile touching his lips as he saw Pietro's eyes open.

"Hey there buddy.." He murmured, smiling softly. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to wake up yet... We're gonna give you something to help you sleep now.. You'll be somewhere comfortable when you wake up, and I'm gonna stay with you the whole time, okay?"

Pietro's lips moved, trying to speak but soon realising he didn't have the strength, and simply giving the smallest of nods. Clint's eyes were kind as he ran his fingers through Pietro's hair, moving his hand down to grip it in Pietro's, carefully lacing their fingers. He barely felt the needle, hardly noticing as darkness crept up on his vision.

He fell asleep, peacefully, and with the knowledge that Clint would stay by his side and, for a short time, his presence would protect him from whatever Zaine had planned next.

* * *

 _Translation- Miláčik - Darling/Love_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- Sorry, sorry, sorry! Been ridiculously busy lately- not fun for me, I assure you. Really, I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated (you guys are probably 100% done with me DX).**

 **Anyway, finally did it, new chapter, here we go_  
**

* * *

Clint gently stroked Pietro's hair back from his forehead with one hand, the other holding a sick bowl for Pietro to retch into.

The kid had been ill for days now, five fully conscious days at least. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness a couple of days after Steve had taken him to a doctor, but for the next five days he'd been awake enough to be consistently sick. It had started to get better around day two, then worse again halfway through day three. He said his current state was a five out of ten, which by Pietro's judging meant at least a seven.

Pietro coughed into the bowl, staying with heavy breathing for a few moments before drawing away. Clint disposed of the bowl as the young man leaned back against the pillows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Sorry." He murmured, eyes low as Clint approached again.

The archer simply shook his head. "Don't be. You don't have to apologise to me Pietro, not for this."

Pietro wouldn't meet his eyes, turning his head to look to the side slightly. Clint frowned.

From the new angle of Pietro's head, he could make out darkness blossoming the skin of his neck, sneaking up from below the neckband of his t-shirt. They looked suspiciously like bruises, but the kind that could only be produced by the tips of fingers applying pressure against the skin.

Reaching forward, Clint carefully looped a finger beneath the hem of the fabric, pulling it down over the length of Pietro's sharp collarbone. Pietro immediately snatched himself away, a hand shooting up to grip Clint's wrist, none too gently.

"Please don't." He muttered, stray strands of white hair falling in his sad eyes.

"Okay.." Clint said softly, prising Pietro's hand from his wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you… Can I ask what happened..? You're covered in bruises."

Pietro shrugged a little, facing away again. "I told you, I fell down the stairs… Can't expect there not to be some scrapes."

Clint gritted his teeth, knowing it was pointless to argue. He was lying and they both knew it. Stark had checked the kid himself, when Pietro had been unconscious due to the amount of morphine the doctors were giving him. Tony and Clint both had first-hand experience with domestic abuse so it wasn't a surprise when Tony bought up that theory.

"These bruises on his arms..." Tony had murmured as he inspected Pietro's forearm, running his fingers over light shades of purple on the kid's pale skin. "He didn't get these falling down the stairs... None of this makes sense..."

Clint had frowned worriedly. "You think he's lying?"

"Someone is." Tony replied, the words sending shivers down Clint's spine. He lifted Pietro's arm again, angling it towards Barton so the archer could see. "He didn't get these accidentally, just look at the pattern. Someone's grabbed him. Pretty damn hard too."

"Kid…" Clint murmured as he remembered, causing Pietro to turn his head to gaze at him. "Are you okay? And don't just say you are, because I know what that means." Pietro stared at him levelly, as if waiting for an explanation, and Clint sighed. "Look, I want to help.. okay? I could help you if you wanted me to, you just have to ask."

For a moment, a split second of a heartbeat, he thought he saw Pietro's jaw tremble, something small and vulnerable entering his eyes. The look was quickly smothered by his usual dull stare- Clint could remember a time when his eyes had shone with child-like mischief, but not now. Now, his irises were lightless, sad almost.

"I'm fine."

Clint couldn't help but inwardly flinch. Those words would be the death of him. _I'm fine,_ in Clint's experience, meant _I need you to help me but I can't say why_.

He gripped Pietro's shoulder, locking their eyes. "Okay." He murmured, hoping his eyes were saying everything he didn't feel he could say aloud. _I understand, Pietro. I swear, I do understand. I'm going to find out why you're so afraid and I'll protect you from it, I promise I will._

Pietro blinked and Clint swore he could see gratitude and that young, vulnerable look once again etched into Pietro's light blue irises.

* * *

Clint was jolted awake, taking in a sharp breath as his head snapped up.

His surroundings were dark, deep into the night. A steady, quiet beeping met his ears, the noise soft in the all but silent room. Clint frowned as he rubbed his eyes, his irises struggling to adjust. The rhythm was slow, too slow.

He reached across to his right to flick the lamp on, washing the room in a dim, yet gradually strengthening light. His eyes widened, catching his breath as he leapt up out of his chair.

"Pietro!"

The young man lay on his side, his breaths shallow and struggling. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes rolled back in his head, slits of white between his eyelids, strands of white hair falling in his eyes. His body shivered, trembling as if he was freezing, but when Clint lay a hand to his forehead, he could feel Pietro's pale skin was radiating heat.

"Damnit kid…" He muttered under his breath, frowning as he touched the side of Pietro's jaw. "Hey, you hearing me?"

Pietro's lips trembled but after a second he just gave a weak nod. An uncomfortable tightness gripped Clint's throat and he swallowed hard, briefly swiping hair back from Pietro's face. He walked to the opposite side of the room, returning just moments later with a bowl of water and a wrung-out cloth.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began gently wiping Pietro's forehead in an attempt to lower his rising temperature. "Hey, easy.." He soothed, moving his free hand to Pietro's chest as his breathing picked up, the monitor measuring his heartrate spiking. "Easy, kid. It's alright… Try to breathe deeper, okay?"

Pietro shut his eyes, swallowing breathlessly before starting to concentrate on his breathing. One of his hands moved up to curl his fingers beneath Clint's palm, keeping the archer's hand against his heart. He winced suddenly, face twitching in anguish as his grip tightened slightly on Clint's hand. Clint looked on anxiously as the young man heaved for air.

"It's… hard…" Pietro breathed, gasping in breaths between his words. "Cold…"

"I know.." Clint murmured. "I know kid.. It'll get better soon. Just breathe deeply for me, you'll feel better in a minute."

It took a little more than a minute and Clint kept his eyes on Pietro for around quarter of an hour, until the kid's breathing starting to even out into a deep and regular rhythm. He silently sighed his relief, gently stroking Pietro's head.

"Well done, kid… Well done.."

Pietro blinked drowsily, his eyes drifting above him before swallowing convulsively. "Water…" He breathed quietly, his eyes closing briefly. "Clint…"

"Here." Clint took a glass from the side table. "Do you think you can sit up?"

Pietro nodded and, with a little help from Clint, dragged himself up into a rough sitting position. The man gently helped him sip the water, drawing back when Pietro had to stop to catch his breath. He continued assisting patiently until Pietro shook his head to gesture he'd had enough.

"You need a haircut kiddo." Clint murmured as he put the glass back on the table, brushing long strands of white hair from Pietro's forehead. They were hanging over his eyes, and blue irises stared up through them dully, blinking slowly. "You alright?"

Pietro nodded, his eyes closing. "'m kinda tired.. Sorry.. I guess it's pretty boring for you when I'm sleeping. I can stay awake a bit longer."

Clint's eyes narrowed sympathetically. "That's okay. You rest, it'll do you good- gives your body a chance to heal..." He was quiet for a moment, helping Pietro lie back against the bed. "D'you want me to get you something to help you sleep?"

Pietro shook his head a little, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. "I'm okay." He muttered. "Should start easing off the drugs.. Don't want to be too dependent on them."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed slightly, forcing his expression back to neutral as Pietro's eyes slipped shut.

Occasionally, out of nowhere, Pietro would make a comment or spout a random, almost bitter, statement about drugs. His knowledge led Clint to believe that the young man had once engaged with drugs and he supposed it had ended badly.

Pietro's breathing had deepened by the time Clint had returned to the present. The kid was asleep, which Clint was grateful for. Pietro didn't get nearly enough sleep.

His head tossed a little, suffering from the fever, or perhaps simply nightmares. A strand of white hair fell over his closed eyes. Clint reached over and brushed it with a finger, sliding it to the side. He watched Pietro struggle for air, watched his chest and lips move in time with his breathing until the door was gently prised open.

A doctor entered, her footsteps quiet against the shined floor. "Oh, good.." She murmured softly, looking to Pietro. "He's sleeping." She checked the machines, readjusting the morphine supply before looking back to Clint. "Will you be here a while? He shouldn't be alone, in case.. well, in case something happens."

"Yes.." Clint muttered honestly, his eyes set firmly on Pietro. "Yes, I'm gonna stay with him.." He paused, glancing up sharply as the woman made to leave. "Wait." He ordered, causing her to turn to stare at him. "Don't let anyone in, understand..? No one."

She frowned briefly, but soon agreed with a small nod and the door closed silently as she left the room.

Clint gently stroked Pietro's head, wiping hair back from his eyes.

"I made a promise." He murmured, though he knew the kid couldn't hear him. "I swore to protect you and I'll be damned if I can't keep that…" He narrowed his eyes a little. "Whoever's doing this to you will pay, I swear they will regret every second…"

Clint shut his eyes, lightly touching the back of Pietro's hand.

"I'll keep you safe now… I promise."


	17. Chapter 17

Pietro jolted awake, scrambling desperately in an attempt to escape the darkness, the danger he had felt stalking him.

But there wasn't anything... There was just nothing...

Hands gripped his shoulders and he lashed out, his knuckles hitting against something before a hand closed over his, bringing his fist down to rest on the bed.

"Steady, steady." A soothing voice murmured, pushing him back a little, helping him to sit back against the wall. "That's it.. That's it, breathe."

Pietro swallowed breathlessly, forcing the erratic movement of his chest to calm into a more regular rhythm. A hand carded through his hair, smoothing loose strands back from his face and his eyes snapped open, rolling to the side.

Clint gazed down at him anxiously, schooling away the worry as Pietro's eyes fixed on his face. A kind smile flickered on his lips.

"Hey, kid..." He greeted gently, then lifted a hand to rub at his collarbone. "Sure are packing a punch, huh?"

Pietro blinked his confusion, turning his head back to the centre. "Dark.." He muttered quietly. "It was dark... I don't.. understand..."

"Dreaming, Pietro." Clint assured him, tucking long strands of hair behind his ear. "You were dreaming... It was just a dream.. It can't hurt you, okay?"

Pietro blinked again, slowly. "Strange…" He murmured under his breath. "All dark… all.. cold…"

Clint stroked the top of his head, causing Pietro's eyes to soften, fond as he gazed up at the archer. An echo of a smile playing briefly on his lips, Clint gently felt Pietro's forehead, feeling the warmth that still held in his skin, the odd brightness of fever in his eyes, the heavy eyelids threatening to obscure that light, the shallow breaths teasing his chest.

"Am I still sick?" Pietro murmured quietly.

Clint nodded. "Yes, but you're getting better... Your forehead feels cooler. The fever's coming down." He reached to the side, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water, wringing it out slightly before gently wiping Pietro's forehead. "Let's help it along, shall we?"

Pietro shut his eyes briefly, his vision swimming. "Mm.." He hummed irritably through closed lips, raising a hand to the side of his head. "Can you turn the morphine off? It's making me feel weird..."

Clint glanced to him, lowering the cloth. "Are your ribs feeling alright?"

Pietro nodded a little. "Doesn't hurt.. I just.." He blinked drowsily. "I can't think straight.. Always tired.."

Clint looked at him, sighing softly as he reached over to alter the morphine supply. "I can't turn it off, you'll be in agony, but I'm turning it down, okay?" He checked the IV line in the back of Pietro's hand. "You should rest a while longer.. Get your strength back."

Something flickered in Pietro's irises for a heartbeat. Clint scanned his eyes searchingly, gently brushing long strands of hair from Pietro's youthful face. Was that fear flickering in the depths of his blue irises? He ran a thumb along Pietro's jawline.

"I'll stay." He murmured softly. "If that's what you want, I can stay with you."

Pietro looked away uncomfortably. "You don't have to."

Clint smiled gently. "I know, but I will."

A slight frown creased Pietro's forehead and, god, he looked so young, so confused in a way that only children could be; as if he couldn't even fathom what Clint was saying. He paused, silent for a moment before glancing up at the archer. "Why?"

"You're a kid, Pietro- no don't look at me like that, you are- and maybe… maybe you need looking after once in a while." Clint's eyes softened as he felt Pietro's forehead again. "Still warm.. but you'll heal quicker if you rest… I'll stay."

There was quiet for a moment, during which Pietro's lips twitched briefly, a small smile touching his lips.

"Thank you."

* * *

Pietro made his way down the hallway, a slight limp altering his pace.

The doctors had deemed him well enough for a bathroom trip and Pietro had finally persuaded Clint to let him go by himself. The archer had offered to escort him, clearly concerned about his well-being, but Pietro was done with his worry. It was exhausting. Surely he could have a shower without any help.

A hand closed around Pietro's arm, startling him, and he was dragged into a room to the side of the corridor.

He struggled weakly, fighting blindly until he heard the door slam and he was thrown to the floor. Empty room, no windows, clear floor. Scrambling to his feet, he just managed to catch a glimpse of his attacker before a clenched fist met his face, a sharp kick to his stomach and a jolt of white hot pain seared the back of his neck.

He collapsed to his knees, trembling as he clutched the nape of his neck. Breathing coming out in rapid gasps, his forehead pressed against the floor, a sharp hiss sounded from above him.

"Get up."

When he didn't move, a hand grasped his hair, roughly forcing his head up. Zaine glared down at him, his eyes alight with anger.

"Does he know?" He growled, pressing a dagger to Pietro's throat as he began to stutter protest. "Don't play games with me you little brat! Barton! Does Barton know?"

Pietro shook his head, as much as he was able to with Zaine holding him. "No.. No, I swear he doesn't. Please, leave him out of this. He doesn't know."

"He told the doctors not to let anyone in." Zaine hissed, the dagger pressing into Pietro's neck a little, warm blood beading at the blade. "He knows something's wrong, and he's stopping everyone from going near you. You convince him otherwise, or I'll make your life a living hell.. Do you understand me?"

Pietro nodded faintly, a gasp escaping his lips as Zaine released him and he fell to the floor. His mentor kicked him onto his back, so Pietro stared up at him, and he leaned down, the bottom of his boot braced against Pietro's chest.

"While we're here we might as well have a little training session." Zaine muttered cruelly. "Haven't used the shocking in a while now, have we? Did you miss it?"

Pietro swallowed thickly, his eyes flashing with panic as Zaine took the controller from his back pocket.

"Can't use this with Barton around.." He murmured, almost thoughtfully. "Then again... He might just think you're having a seizure.."

Pietro shook his head desperately. "Zaine.. Please... Please, don't-"

His voice cut off as a short shock jolted through the back of his neck and he gritted his teeth hard. Zaine smirked slightly, his eyes alight with insanity as he flicked the switch down again.

Pain erupted through Pietro's body, flashing from his neck to envelope his entire form. Amidst the terrible anguish, he felt his body convulsing, racked with electricity. Sharp pain pierced his tongue and he tasted iron.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended, leaving Pietro quivering on the cold floor. He coughed weakly, groaning a little as he rolled to his side before continuing to indulge in the weak coughing fit that racked his chest.

"Barton's gonna find out soon enough.." Zaine muttered thoughtfully before his voice hardened into a stern growl. "I'm making the sessions more regular. Every time you come out that little hospital bed of yours, I'll be waiting…" He gripped a handful of Pietro's hair, forcing his head back slightly. "Don't disappoint me, boy… If you do.. you'll regret it."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N- This chapter's gonna be pretty long so sorry or not sorry in advance, depending on whether you guys prefer longer or shorter chapters. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Pietro slammed the door to his room shut, trying to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

He limped to his bed, sat down heavily and unsheathed a knife from its hold on his bedside table. Self-defence, precautionary weapon, coping method. But this wasn't coping, not anymore. He couldn't do this anymore.

Pietro felt tears escape his eyes, not bothering to try and stop them as the droplets raced down his cheeks. Shutting his eyes tightly, a choked sob escaped his lips and he firmly closed his mouth, drawing in a deep, shivering breath.

His hand was shaking violently, too much for him to control, so he rested the blade against his upturned wrist, pressing down slightly to stop himself trembling. He couldn't die by Zaine's hand. If he was to die, he wanted it to be of his own accord. He wanted to be helping someone.

At least he was doing everyone else a favour.

Tears streaked his face, his whole body beginning to shiver, his mind racked with terror. He was losing himself; he couldn't find a reason to keep going anymore. Then, only seconds after the thought had entered his mind, his reason to keep going touched his hands.

"Pietro… Pietro, look at me. Focus on me."

He shakily raised his head, heaving in ragged, uneven breaths as his eyes locked with Clint's.

The archer was crouched in front of him, his eyes filled with compassion as he gazed up at Pietro. He was subtly trying to force the knife from Pietro's hand, yet without taking his eyes off the younger man's. Pietro swallowed, his gaze drifting down to his hands as his chest moved with panicked breaths.

"No, no look at me…" Clint murmured, moving hand up to touch Pietro's jaw, drawing his eyes back. "Just focus on me… Keep looking at me and listen… You don't want to do this Pietro. I promise, you don't want this…"

Pietro shook his head miserably, fighting back a sob. "It won't stop…" He half-choked the words, struggling to keep his tears at bay. "I-I can't… I can't do it. It's too much… Please, I can't…"

Clint ran his thumb over Pietro's cheekbone, brushing tears from his face. "It'll get better." He promised softly, his hand drifting to the back of Pietro's head. "Let me help you Pietro, please. I can help you, just… just let go of the knife, okay…? Just do that for me, please…"

Pietro took a few shaky breaths, tears dripping from his face onto his shirt. He slowly, almost cautiously, slackened his grip on the knife. Clint, equally cautious, gently forced it from his hand. The archer pulled Pietro into his arms, holding the young man in a tight hug as the knife clattered to the floor. Soothing him with quiet words of comfort, Clint held him, arms wrapped around Pietro's shoulders.

"There we go, well done Pietro. You're okay, you're alright." He whispered into Pietro's white hair, his fingers clutching the back of Pietro's head. "It's okay, I've got you kid. I've got you…"

Pietro took several deep, shuddering breaths, his eyes shut, barely controlled sobs racking his body. He'd let himself break down, leaving his emotionally vulnerable side for Clint to deal with. That wasn't fair on Clint, Pietro knew that. But now that he'd started crying he couldn't stop. Not right away.

He grasped Clint's shirt, desperately needing something to anchor himself to. Clint's fingers worked their way through his white hair.

"Okay, okay, I'm here." He whispered as Pietro turned his face against the archer's chest. "I'm right here kid, just focus on my voice, alright…? Everything's gonna be okay now."

"It's too much…" Pietro sobbed, his forehead pressed against Clint's heart. He was aware that Clint probably thought he was talking about PTSD, nightmares, flashbacks, that kind of thing. Pietro would let him think that. He just needed someone to listen to him at the moment. "I can't do this. I'm not strong enough… It's too much…"

Clint stroked his head, exhaling a few soft hushing sounds. "Shh, shh, shh… Hey, it's alright…" He assured gently, wrapping his arm tighter around Pietro's shoulders, drawing him close. "It's okay… We'll get through this kid, together… Let me help you, okay? Whatever you need, just tell me and I swear I'll do everything I can…"

Pietro shook his head miserably. "You can't…" He half-choked the words. "You can't help me."

"I can, Pietro. I promise, I can help." Clint gently hugged him tighter. "You need help Pietro, please let me help you."

A choked sob gripped Pietro's throat and he shut his eyes tightly. He let himself cry for a while, taking comfort from Clint's hold. Minutes passed and his seemingly endless sobbing finally began to die down as he attempted to breathe deeper, taking more forced breaths. _Inhale… Exhale… Just breathe… Breathe…_

Clint gently took his shoulders, sitting up him and holding his shoulders for a moment, looking at him levelly. "Are you alright?"

Pietro swallowed, took a deep breath and nodded. Clint's eyes narrowed sympathetically, moving his hands to Pietro's face and gently wiping tears from his cheeks with his thumbs.

"I shouldn't have asked." He murmured. "I know you're not…" A small tutting sound was exhaled from him and he gently pushed strands of white hair away from Pietro's eyes. "Why can't you talk to me…? Just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it… What do you want, Pietro?"

The young man swallowed again, hard, shaking his head. "I don't know." He whispered. Then, after a pause, he spoke again, but it was even quieter this time. "I can't sleep…" He glanced up at the archer. "I'm tired, Clint… I'm so tired.." Closing his eyes, he dropped his head, letting out a half-sob. "E-Everything hurts…" He gripped his head in distress, his fingers clutching at his hair. "It's all gone wrong."

"Hey, what has?" Clint asked softly, carefully forcing his hands back down. "Talk to me, what's gone wrong?"

"Everything." Pietro whispered miserably. "I ruin everything I touch. I-I wasn't supposed to live. I should have died in Sokovia-"

Clint gripped the side of his neck, his eyes flashing with fierceness. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare say that!"

"But it's true.." Pietro sobbed weakly, hating himself for breaking down like this. "I can't do this. I-I can't breathe!"

"Hey, hey look at me!" Clint ordered, gently cupping the side of Pietro's jaw in his hand to carefully force their eyes to meet. "Look at me, it's okay…" His voice softened into gentle comfort, moving his hand up to brush loose strands of white hair from Pietro's forehead. "You're okay, you can breathe. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise. Just breathe deeply..."

Pietro subconsciously obeyed, heaving in shaky, uneven breaths, each with an attempt to slow the movement of his chest. Clint sat with him for another hour, whispering words of comfort when his breathing picked up, hushing him and gently touching his face when he looked as though he was about to cry. He was just starting to get better. Just starting to calm down when the door clicked open.

Clint glanced round to see Pietro's mentor stood in the doorway, flitting his attention straight back to Pietro as the young man took in a shaky breath. The kind of breath that was so quiet, Zaine wouldn't have even picked it up. The kind of breath that caused Pietro's chest to stutter as he drew it in. The kind of breath only fear, pure, unprecedented fear, could provoke.

Pietro's eyes welled with tears, silver droplets shimmering down his pale skin as he blinked.

"Zaine, give us a minute." Clint ordered, reaching up to brush away Pietro's tears.

"But- sorry- I'm just here for-"

"Out. Now." Clint's voice hardened into stern command and the door closed a second later, Zaine having obeyed his order without further objection. "Hey, hey.." Clint coaxed softly as Pietro bowed his head as if trying to hide his face, sobbing quietly. "Hey, come on, it's alright…" He looked at Pietro searchingly. "Talk to me, Pietro… I won't let anyone hurt you, I swear I won't."

Pietro shook his head, his face pinched in aguish. "It hurts…"

Clint frowned. "What hu-" His gaze found Pietro's hand, cradling his ribs, his throat convulsing as he swallowed back the pain. "Who did that, Pietro?" Clint murmured, scanning Pietro's eyes for any change in emotion. "Dyson being too rough?"

Pietro's breathing stuttered and he shook his head, but he didn't speak.

"Pietro.." Clint murmured gently. "Please, I can't help you if you don't talk to me-"

"Please, Clint…" Pietro whispered, his breathing coming out in shuddering gasps as he held his ribs. "Please don't."

"Hey, it's okay." Clint assured softly, noting Pietro was clearly in a certain amount of pain. "I'm sorry, it's okay. Come on…" He took Pietro's arm, gently helping him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you to a medic room. We can have a look at those ribs."

Pietro shook his head weakly, trying to sit down but just ending up slumping against Clint's shoulder. "No…" He half-gasped and Clint looped an arm around his lower back. "No, it.. it hurts. I don't want… I can't.."

"Hey." Clint touched his face, an edge of command to his voice. "Stay with me, kid." He lifted Pietro's arm over his shoulders, helping the young man to stumble across the length of his room. "Come on, you gotta walk kid. You be strong for me, okay? Just for a couple minutes, be strong now."

Pietro was panting heavily, chest heaving by the time they made it down the hall, turning left into a vacant medical room. He legs shivered, slumping against Clint as he lost the strength to keep himself standing. The archer held him up, an arm curling around his lower back to hold the young man's hip.

"Steady." Clint warned evenly as Pietro fell against him again. "Steady now, come on…" He slowly led Pietro across the room, helping him to carefully sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm gonna fetch a doctor for you, okay? Stay put, I'll be back in a minute."

He rushed out of the room and it didn't take long before he stumbled across a doctor, male, early thirties; Clint seemed to recall his name being Owen Harper. Returning to the medical room, Clint hung back a little as Harper looked over Pietro, ordering the kid to lie back and gently examining his ribs. He quickly arranged an IV line in the back of Pietro's hand, murmuring something inaudible to the young man before returning to Clint.

"How is he?" Clint asked anxiously, pushing himself off the wall to meet Owen as he approached.

The doctor sighed, glancing back to Pietro briefly. "I won't lie to you… He's weak. He's really.. he's really weak and if he carries on like this…" Owen shook his head, lowering his voice slightly. "He's making himself sick.. I can't have him moving for at least a week. He needs to stay in bed or he'll end up dying. He's pushing himself too far, Clint, you.. you need to help him."

Clint gripped Harper's shoulder, a tight set on his jaw. "Thank you.. for being honest with me…" His eyes flicked to Pietro, narrowing in pity. "I'm gonna stay with him tonight. Probably all week actually, until he's better."

A grunt from Pietro caused them both to look up and Clint rushed to the bed as he saw the kid was attempting to sit up. A grimace twisted his features, his elbows propping up his torso and he was shivering uncontrollably.

"Out." Clint ordered doctor Harper, waving a hand to dismiss the man. "I can handle him."

The door closed as Clint sat on the edge of the hospital bed, a hand to the side of Pietro's face, holding his head up.

"Lie down..." Clint ordered quietly, trying his best to keep his tone calm, but Pietro's hitched, anguished breathing wasn't helping his mood. "Kid, please lie down."

Shaking his head, Pietro struggled to push himself up a little more, his breaths coming out in weak gasps. "I... I need... Ah!" He broke off, his head falling back as a pained cry escaped his lips. "Ah, it... it hurts.."

"Pietro." Clint growled, his voice stern now. "Do as I say and lie back. No, listen to me-" He took Pietro's jaw as the young man began to speak again, a little rougher than he'd intended, but this was serious. "If you try to move, you're going to die."

Pietro swallowed thickly, his lips flaring breathlessly for a moment before the words began to form. "What... What would be s-so bad.. about that?"

He fell back despite his protest, a pained groan exhaling from his lips and a few breathless coughs racking his chest, causing it to rise and fall more erratically. Clint's eyes narrowed in pity, brushing a thumb along the kid's cheek.

"Don't talk like that." He muttered gently, then forced his mouth to slant into half a smile. "And you know your sister would beat me to shit for not looking out for you, that's what's bad about that."

Pietro's features twitched in amusement, yet his eyes flickered, as if he was fighting to keep them open. Clint whispered his silent thanks to whatever deity was listening. The morphine was kicking in.

"Clint…" Pietro murmured quietly, eyes heavy.

Clint touched the side of his jaw, hushing him softly. "Shh, kid… Don't try to talk.."

Pietro's eyes fluttered, the sedatives beginning to take effect on his body. "I… need to tell you.. something.."

"It can wait." Clint assured him, gently stroking white hair back from his forehead.

"It's important…"

"So are you, Pietro." Clint brushed a thumb along the side of his jaw. "You sleep now, okay? I'll be here when you wake… I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

Pietro was coughing again.

Clint hurried to his side, his hand cradling the side of the young man's jaw, using his fingers to gently tilt his head back in an attempt to ease his coughing.

The kid had been in a state of controlled sedation for about a little over sixteen hours now. Doctor Harper felt it was too risky to allow him to wake for the moment. He'd been taken for x-rays almost as soon as the morphine had kicked in but the results were more or less the same as last time; broken ribs.

Several hours ago, Owen had decreased the dosage just enough to use an eyedropper to feed some water between Pietro's lips, making sure the kid swallowed before putting him under again.

Wanda had been in, of course. Clint had brought her to see Pietro because he understood family was important, and he knew Pietro meant more to Wanda than anything in the world. She'd wanted to stay with her brother all night but Clint had persuaded her to get some sleep. He couldn't have two exhausted twins in his care.

Pietro's coughing eventually subsided and Clint's eyes narrowed in sympathy. He watched Pietro's chest hitch and buckle, his lips flaring as he weakly gasped for air.

"It's alright, kid.." He murmured, a hand drifting to gently rest over Pietro's heart. "It's okay, just breathe deep."

Pietro's eyelashes fluttered faintly and Clint froze. The kid wasn't supposed to wake up yet; Harper had said that the sedation would keep him under for another couple of hours before they had to alter the supply. It was too late to run for a doctor, so Clint sat and waited at Pietro's side, a precaution in case the young man panicked or attempted to move in any way.

A few feeble coughs gripped Pietro's chest and his throat convulsed, swallowing thickly as his eyes slowly opened. Clint remained still as his irises eventually came into focus, recognition melting into his eyes as they flicked to Clint.

"Old man..?" Pietro rasped distantly, his voice barely reaching above a whisper. He swallowed again, his lips flaring as he spoke breathlessly. "Water..." His chest heaved in between his words. "Clint, please.. Thirsty... Need water..."

"Okay.." Clint muttered gently, touching his forehead briefly. "Okay: water. I can get you water."

Standing, he forced himself to move calmly to the sink, taking a plastic cup from the side and filling it three-quarters of the way with water. Amidst the noise of the rushing tap, Clint distinctly heard a muffled thump and, once followed by a groan, he whipped around.

Pietro was lying on his side on the floor beside the hospital bed, weakly attempting to push himself up. The IV line had been ripped from the back of his hand- whether purposefully or by accident, Clint didn't know.

He was at Pietro's side in a heartbeat, placing the water on the floor in order to touch the kid's head, swiping pale hair back from his forehead. Pietro was coughing hoarsely, the abrupt chokes racking his chest and, though his face was downcast, Clint saw a few dark, crimson droplets falling and splashing onto the ground.

"Oh, god... Pietro.."

Clint carefully took the young man's jaw, lifting his head to see runnels of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, dripping from his lips and the side of his jaw. Pietro's eyes flickered unsteadily and he slumped into Clint's hand, his shoulder's falling to rest against the archer's legs.

Wordlessly, Clint took him into his arms, cradling Pietro's semi-conscious form to his chest.

"Owen!" Clint called for the doctor, taking the back of Pietro's head in his hand. "Little help in here!"

Within seconds, the blonde-haired doctor had slammed open the doors, racing over to fall to his knees beside Pietro. He felt his patient's forehead, anxiety glistening in his eyes as he scanned Pietro's face, tilting his head back to listen to his hoarse, wheezing breaths.

"There's blood in his lungs." He explained hurriedly, getting to his feet. "Lift him onto the bed, gently. He urgently needs a chest drain."

Pietro gave a voiceless moan as Clint gathered him into his arms, but the archer continued, moving to carefully place the kid back on the bed, laying his head down gently. He raised a hand to brush white hair from Pietro's striking blue eyes.

"You're gonna be okay.." He promised quietly. "You're good, alright?"

"Water..." Pietro gasped faintly, his eyes closed now. "Need water..."

Clint glanced back to Owen and the doctor considered for a moment before giving a small nod. "Just a little bit though.. Enough to keep him hydrated."

The archer crouched to take the cup from the floor, moving back to sit at Pietro's side. "Hey.." He murmured quietly, lifting Pietro's head with his free hand. "Water."

Pietro's eyelids fluttered, parting slightly to reveal dulled irises. "Water..?"

Clint forced a slanted smile. "Yeah, kid... You keep still now."

Pietro lifted a hand to the cup but left Clint in control, intervening only to push the cup back a little when he needed to take a breath. After three mouthfuls, Clint drew back, placing the water on the counter beside the bed.

"Right, Pietro." Owen began, his voice gentle as he carefully lifted an oxygen mask over Pietro's head, arranging it to cover his mouth and nose. "While I'm putting the drain in, you need to keep your breathing deep and slow, okay? Can you try and do that for me?"

Pietro nodded and Owen attached the IV line back in place, checking and altering the morphine supply slightly.

"It's going to be a bit painful and we need you conscious, but the morphine should help take the edge off."

Clint lightly patted Pietro's knuckles. "Squeeze my hand if you need to."

Doctor Harper moved Pietro's arm so his hand dangled off the edge of the bed, IV line looping back and trailing down to the ground. Pushing the blanket down to his hips, Owen gently pulled the grey shirt up Pietro's chest, leaving his abdomen and ribs free to work on.

Clint kept his eyes on Pietro's face, narrowing his eyes in sympathy as the young man's features twitched into a wince of pain. Breath clouding the inside of the mask, it took less than a minute for Pietro to cave in and grip Clint's hand.

A particularly painful moment caused the muscles in Pietro's abdomen to clench, his breathing hitching as the grip on Clint's hand tightened. Clint gently touched his forehead, murmuring soft encouragement.

"Breathe, kid." He reminded quietly, noting the mask wasn't clouding. "Remember to breathe."

Pietro took in a short, shaking breath, letting it out several moments later. The irregularity of his breathing inspired an anxious furrow between Clint's eyebrows and Owen glanced up from his work to gently lay his hand above Pietro's heart.

"Deep breaths, Pietro." He coaxed gently, frowning when there continued to be little change in the kid's breathing. "Deeper, Pietro, you have to breathe deeper."

Owen glanced to Clint, who nodded, understanding he needed to be the one to sort Pietro's breathing out while Owen tried to fix a chest drain on him.

"Look at me." He ordered, taking Pietro's jaw to turn his head slightly. Pietro's irises flitted across his face, pain glittering in the blue depths. "You need to breathe, okay? Here-" He shifted himself slightly, so his back was to Owen, and took Pietro's hand, lifting it to his abdomen and forcing his breaths to slow and become more prominent. "You feel me breathing?" Pietro nodded weakly. "You breathe with me, Pietro. You need to make your breathing the same pace as mine, do you think you can do that for me, kid?"

Pietro swallowed thickly, closing his eyes, and Clint heard a distinctive alteration in his breathing. The archer smiled softly, curling strands of Pietro's white hair in his fingers, his other hand gently tightening on Pietro's, holding the kid's palm to his ribs.

"That's it." He encouraged quietly, noting Pietro's breathing was growing deeper and slower. "That's it, well done.."

Owen glanced up to the young man's face briefly. "Right, Pietro, I need you to cough for me, okay?"

Pietro grimaced weakly, a spluttering cough racking his chest. Small traces of blood sprayed the inside of the oxygen mask and Clint's eyes narrowed pityingly, brushing a thumb along Pietro's cheekbone. Owen smiled kindly, getting to his feet.

"We'll need to leave that for a number of hours… It could be as long as a day, depending on how much blood has gathered in your lungs."

Pietro swallowed thickly, closing his eyes, and Owen moved to exchange the oxygen mask for a nasal cannula, smoothing the tube across Pietro's cheekbones and behind his ears. After cleaning traces of blood from Pietro's face, the doctor moved to increase the morphine dosage a little.

"Sleep if you can." Owen murmured gently, brushing white hair back from Pietro's face. "It'll feel better in a moment."

His eyes flitted to the side, beckoning to Clint and the archer stood to meet him as Owen got to his feet. He led Clint to the side a little, dropping his voice so Pietro wouldn't hear.

"I don't think his lungs been punctured. He's probably just damaged it so there's a bit of bleeding from the inside." He glanced to Pietro briefly. "That should heal by itself, but I'll keep a close eye out for anything that suggests otherwise and we can get him to theatre." Clint nodded his understanding and Owen looked at him searchingly. "I expect you'll want some time alone with him.. I'll be back in a few hours to check the drain but I'm nearby if you need anything."

Clint nodded again. "Okay- and Owen-" He put a hand to the doctor's shoulder as he turned to leave, squeezing slightly. "Thank you.. for everything you do for him."

Owen's mouth slanted into a sad smile. "Make sure he stays in bed. He'll be stationary there for several days, I expect. He can't be moving around if he wants to get better."

Clint dropped his hand, watching the doctor leave before he glanced back to Pietro, heaving out a silent sigh.

It was going to be a long week.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N- Okay, holy mother of marvel, this story has hit 100 reviews and… I barely even know how to word this. Thank you, so, so much to everyone who has read or reviewed, favorited or followed, because oh my god, 100 reviews?! I've never reached 100 before on anything! I just wanted to say a massive, massive thank you to all of you- everyone reading this story. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading and sticking with me and Pietro this far. I really appreciate every person reading, you're all amazing!**

 **Okay, sorry for the rant; I'm acting like this is the end but it's really not (we've got a while to go yet). I'm just so overwhelmed. Onto the chapter, here we go!**

* * *

Pietro didn't realise.

Clint had been ordered to his room by Doctor Harper on the promise that Pietro would be well cared for while he slept. According to the doctor, Clint would make _himself_ sick if he continued the way he was going. Pietro didn't realise, he'd been asleep when the conversation had taken place.

"Make sure someone's always in the room with him." Clint had ordered, looking down at Pietro's sleeping expression. "He's stubborn. He'll try to move but you can't let him, not yet."

Harper was only gone for five, ten minutes tops, running up a lead on some missing x-rays of Pietro's ribs. But Pietro didn't know that. Just like he didn't know Clint had been ordered to his room, like he didn't know where Harper was.

He woke alone, confused at the lack of sound. His eyes searched briefly.

"Clint?" He mumbled, flitting his irises across the section of the room he was facing.

He shifted onto his back a little more, as he had previously been angled onto his side. He froze.

Zaine Dyson was sat beside him, a cruel smile etched over his features. Pietro hadn't seen him since he had broken down in his room; the agent's figure had been blurred with tears and Clint had quickly sent, no, _ordered_ him away. Something glinted in Zaine's hand and Pietro was almost too scared to register the object. When he did, he could've cried.

An injection needle.

A flash of panic spiked through Pietro's irises.

Trying to scramble away, sent a sharp pain through his ribs and he moved to cradle his chest with a hand. Seeing his opportunity, Zaine gripped Pietro's wrist tight, forcing his arm down and bending his hand back over the side of the bed until Pietro grunted his discomfort. Fear struck Pietro's chest, his eyes hot as tears slipped from the corners.

It was too real. It was just like before, just like after his parents died. The needle glinted as Zaine move it to his skin and Pietro strained against the iron grip of his hand.

"No…" Pietro begged, his voice hoarse, his face soaked with tears. "No, please… Please, don't.. I don't want to.."

Zaine pushed the point of the needle into his forearm. Pietro struggled but he couldn't break free. The agent injected the drug at a painfully slow rate, making Pietro let out a sob that caught in his throat. He wanted more. He wanted it to stop. He couldn't think.

"Stop your whining you pathetic child." Dyson hissed, taking the needle from his arm and shoving his arm back so it lay beside him. "There, keep quiet. Let's see what your friends think of you now."

Pietro sobbed softly. "Please…"

Simply rolling his eyes, Zaine turned and left the room. The familiar sound of a door slamming shut had Pietro falling to his side, his head half hanging off the edge of the bed, shifting his legs as chills shot through his veins. The room was spinning, strange colours and flashes making him dizzy and he shut his eyes. That just made it worse.

Pietro felt his hand spasm and he let it, hating every second of this. He covered his head with an arm, and felt his body start to relax. His mind, however, was by no means relaxed. His fingers and limbs twitched involuntarily and, after however long, the previous pain of his ribs started to ebb back into focus, maximised tenfold by the drug. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

He couldn't move.

Something touched the side of his jaw and he lashed out feebly, catching whatever was touching him. No, _who_ ever. It was a hand on his jaw, moving to grip his shoulders and sitting him up, gently leaning him back against metal headboard of the hospital bed.

"Kid… Pietro, can you hear me..? Please, kid, talk to me."

His eyes fluttered but everything was blurred; he could barely see. His head moved a little, eyes rolling as he tried to catch a glimpse of the person. Hands steadied him, laying to each side his face and a thumb gently lifted one of his eyelids a little more.

"Talk to me, Pietro, what happened?"

Pietro let his head drop back against the wall, angling his face up slightly, so he could see who was speaking. The face was familiar. Briefly, he registered it was wrong for him to be here but he couldn't recall why. The name itched Pietro's tongue for several moments before he found the strength to speak.

"Clint…?"

Clint smiled kindly, nodding reassuringly. "Yeah, that's it… that's it, I'm here…" He sighed sadly, giving a small tutting noise and smoothed his hand through Pietro's hair. "What have you done, kid? What's wrong?"

Pietro groaned quietly, turning his head to Clint's palm. "It hurts…"

"What hurts, Pietro?" Clint coaxed gently. "Tell me what hurts, I'll try to make it better…"His voice trailed off slightly and Pietro felt the archer griped his arm, turning it so his forearm was exposed. Fingers trailed down over the injection point. "Oh god, Pietro…" He gently gripped the side of Pietro's head. "Why, kid? Why would you do this to yourself?"

Pietro's lips twitched. _Zaine, Zaine did this, tell him!_ All that managed to escape was a choked whimper, the sound catching with a sob in his throat. Clint held him upright as his eyes fluttered, slumping to the side a little, threatening to collapse to his side.

"Pietro… Pietro, look at me." Clint gently forced his head up, making their eyes lock. "Tell me why, Pietro. Why would you… Oh, Pietro…"

"It hurts." Pietro whispered, tears welling hot in the corners of his eyes. "Clint, it hurts. Please… Please help me, it hurts.."

Clint hushed him urgently, stroking damp, sweat-soaked hair from his face. "Shh, shh, Pietro. I know, I know it hurts.. I'm gonna sort you out, okay? The doctors will make you better; I'll get Harper, you trust him, don't you."

Pietro choked back a sob, gripping the front of Clint's t-shirt. "Clint…" He gasped desperately, grasping at the archer. "Clint, help… Please help me… Please.."

"I'm trying, Pietro. I'm trying." Clint gently braced his hands to each side of Pietro's head, resting his forehead against the younger man's. "I thought you were getting better, kid… I thought…" He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry.. I didn't see how you were hurting… You said you didn't want to be dependent on morphine. Is that what's set this off..? Pietro…? Pietro!"

Clint's voice faded as Pietro's eyelids grew heavier. The archer shook him but the darkness was more tempting…

Pietro was falling.

* * *

A jolt pulsed through Pietro's chest and he took in a single, gasping breath.

His eyelids fluttered groggily, hands clenching fistfuls of fabric at his sides. While his body tensed in pain, his mind was dulled with confusion and he barely remembered he had to breathe until his chest was heaving for air. A hand touched his chest, another covering his knuckles and he made to get up.

"Steady…" A voice murmured and his eyes snapped open to see Clint sat beside him, holding him down with a hand. "Steady, kid. Calm yourself… You lost consciousness and started fitting. You arrested but the doctors got you back. Now lie still…"

Pietro rolled his head to the side, reaching over to touch a cannula taped into the back of his hand, leading off into a tube that trailed down the side of the bed. "What's this?" He mumbled, silently shocked at the slurring nature of his voice.

"Just fluids to counter the drug."

Clint glanced around, to signal the doctors to leave, turning back to Pietro when the room was clear. He sighed and sat beside him, brushing strands of hair from Pietro's forehead.

"I was right here, Pietro. You could have talked to me about this… Why did you think you couldn't talk to me? Do you not trust me enough?"

"I trust you." Pietro muttered, looking away. Zaine must have listening devices hidden in the room. How else could he know so much about his and Clint's conversations? "And I know you were there but you wouldn't have understood."

Clint was silent for a moment. "Even so…" He murmured softly. "I might not have completely understood but you didn't have to go through this alone, kid." Pietro pointedly didn't meet his eyes, and Clint touched his shoulder. "Pietro, please… You need help. Let me help you."

"You don't understand." Pietro whispered, a tight feeling in his chest, spanning up to his throat. He felt like he was about to cry. "You can't help me, Clint… You _can't_."

"I can… Pietro, look at me, we can get you help for the drugs... We can get you therapy to talk through this with someone if that's what you need-"

Pietro shook his head, on the verge of breaking down. "You can't fix this…" He glanced to the archer, tears welling in his eyes. "You don't understand everything yet… and there are things I can't tell you but…" He swallowed thickly. "Try." His voice was so small, so vulnerable it was barely recognisable. "Please try." He let out a weak, choked sob, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Help me, Clint…"

Clint's brow was furrowed anxiously, his lips parted soundlessly as he seemed to be struggling to come to terms with Pietro's words. The young man fell against him, face buried in Clint's shoulder, quiet sobs shaking his form.

Clint held him because what else could he do? He wrapped an arm around Pietro's shoulders, still silently bewildered at the kid's sudden breakdown, and pulled him close. His cheek rested against the side of Pietro's head, closing his eyes as the boy sobbed, hushing him softly.

"Shhh… Shhh… It's okay… It's okay…"

He just had to keep repeating it, to hold Pietro and hush him and _look after_ him. Pietro was right, he didn't understand, but he'd stay anyway. He'd stay and try until he could delve a little deeper into what had brought upon this seemingly constant state of depression Pietro was suffering in.

A hand gripped the front of Clint's shirt and Pietro sunk a little closer, like holding onto Clint was the only thing keeping him together. Raising a hand slowly, Clint gently laid it to the back of Pietro's head, caressing his fingers into the pale locks of hair.

"I'm here, Pietro…" He whispered, turning to press a chaste kiss to the side of Pietro's head. "I'm right here… I'm going to try to understand and I'm going to help you.. Shh, now…"

He hushed him again as a desperate sob caught in Pietro's throat.

"It's going to be alright…"


	21. Chapter 21

Wanda was understandably distraught.

Clint stood a little way back as she fussed over Pietro, knelt on the edge of his bed with her hand cradling his jaw. Pietro was refusing to meet her eyes, his jaw clenched stubbornly, swallowing thickly every so often, as if fighting back his emotions.

Despite his understanding of how Pietro would feel, Clint didn't interfere as Wanda spoke to him, chastising and pleading. After all, this was _her_ brother, her flesh and blood who was lying there recovering from self-inflicted drug abuse. Part of Clint felt like he shouldn't be there- didn't have the right to be there. Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave, not with Pietro in this state.

Wanda smoothed pale locks of hair from her brother's forehead, murmuring something in their home language. Pietro was quiet, remaining still until she tried to touch his forearm, and he snapped a hand to her wrist, forcing her back.

Shaking his head, he slowly, hesitantly released her arm and turned over to lay on his side, his back to Wanda. His shoulders shook faintly, trembling as he took in a shaking breath.

Wanda lay her hand to the back of his head, her fingers curling into his hair slightly. "Don't cry, Pietro. Please don't cry."

He shifted away from her, turning his face down against the mattress a little more. Recognising that Pietro was obviously uncomfortable and either actually crying or on the verge of tears, Clint gently put a hand to Wanda's shoulder.

"Hey, maybe we should give him a little space, okay? He's upset, you shouldn't push him."

"I shouldn't push him?" Wanda asked disbelievingly. "Clint, he's ruining himself… These drugs will mess his mind and wreck his body and you want me to just leave him?"

Clint shook his head. "I'm not saying that, just…" He glanced to Pietro briefly, lowering his voice. "Try to understand. He couldn't cope, Wanda. The battle clearly left a deeper mark than we thought. He's just a kid, he didn't see another way and he… he couldn't cope… Cut him some slack, okay? Let me talk to him a minute."

Wanda considered him for a moment, simply holding Clint's gaze, before sighing softly and nodding. She reached over to gently touch her brother's shoulder.

"Try to get some rest." She murmured, her eyes filled with worry. "I'll be back later."

Clint turned to watch her go, unmoving until the door closed behind her. He glanced over his shoulder, sighing silently as Pietro remained still, shifting once to rub at his eyes before settling again, his back to Clint. He wouldn't get better if he didn't have help. Clint knew that.

"Hey, come on. Sit up." Clint coaxed, taking Pietro's shoulder. "Come on, you'll feel better if you sit up."

With a little reluctance, Pietro pushed himself up into a sitting position, dragging his legs up to cross them under the covers. He kept scratching at his arm, idly itching at the injection mark like a long-time addict.

"Pietro, I know you didn't want this." Clint murmured quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I know you've had some trouble with this kind of thing before, so you know how it ends… Why, Pietro?" His eyes were narrowed in confusion and pity. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

He didn't receive a reply. In fact, Pietro was silent for so long that Clint was ready to gently press him again when the young man finally spoke.

"There was a moment…" He began softly, blinking every so often as if fighting back tears. "When it was… After I took it, when I…" He swallowed thickly. "I didn't know if I wanted more or if I wanted it to stop and I… I hated that… I hated not knowing my own mind…"

Clint scanned his face anxiously, as Pietro looked as if he was about to cry.

"I didn't want to take it…" Pietro admitted as a whisper. "But it… it just wouldn't stop… It _hurt_ … all the time and I…" He swallowed again, tears glistening in his eyes, sticking to his eyelashes. "I couldn't make it stop… I didn't know how, Clint, and I couldn't breathe because it hurt…" He paused a moment and when he continued his voice was even quieter, even softer. "It hurt.. and I didn't know what to do…"

Clint eyes narrowed, fighting back grief of his own. He sounded so young, so helpless; Clint wasn't angry, he couldn't be angry, not when Pietro looked like that. "You could have talked to me, Pietro." He murmured gently. "You didn't have to go through this by yourself."

Pietro nodded faintly, lifting a hand to wipe tears from his eyes. His throat convulsed and Clint noted he was probably swallowing back his emotions instead of filtering them out in a healthier way.

"You can cry if you need to." He murmured softly. "It's okay to cry."

At a small shake of his head, Clint realised if he pushed Pietro any further he'd probably break down completely and, in all honesty, Clint didn't know if that was good or bad anymore. He imagined it wouldn't be particularly dignified for Pietro, so he let it sit, tactfully averting his eyes as Pietro used the neckband of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes.

Pietro gave a sound that was half chuckle, half stifled sob and Clint glanced back to see him smiling tearfully as he mopped at his eyes. "Sorry, I'm a mess…"

Clint shook his head. "No, you're not. It's okay."

Pietro let out a shaky sigh but his eyes had amusement etched into the irises. "Give me a world-dominating robot over teenage angst any day."

Clint let out a short, breathy laugh. It was good to see the kid smiling. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen him smile. They were quiet for a moment, Pietro sniffling occasionally to rid himself of the last traces of his crying.

"I'm sorry…" Pietro said suddenly, his eyes locking on Clint's as the archer glanced up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you… It isn't fair for you to have to worry about me all the time."

"I don't _have to_ do anything, kid." Clint replied good-naturedly. "I think I'd get pretty bored if I wasn't running up leads on your antics." He gave a slanted smile, sympathy glittering in his eyes. "You don't have to keep apologising, Pietro… I just want you to be safe."

Pietro nodded faintly. "I know…" He leaned back, wincing slightly, a hand lifting to cradle his ribs as he lay himself down against the pillows. A deep sigh escaped his lips as his eyes slipped shut. "I'm tired, Clint. I…" He faltered, breaking off to sigh again. "I'm so tired."

Clint's eyes narrowed, his irises soft as he leaned forward to smooth pale locks of hair from Pietro's forehead. "Go to sleep, kid… You'll feel better if you rest."

Pietro blinked slowly. "I can't…" He whispered, looking away. "My dreams… I can't.. sleep…"

Clint reached out to touch his face. "You're still having nightmares?" Pietro flinched away and the archer's hand faltered, lowering reluctantly. He sighed softly. "Pietro… These dreams you have… What are they about?"

Throat convulsing, Pietro swallowed thickly. "There's a man… He's like a shadow but.. he hurts me. Every night, it always happens and I-" His voice was growing heated and he broke off, coughing to clear a knot in his throat. "I can't tell what's real anymore… I don't know if this has all happened before or if my mind is turning against me."

Clint's eyebrows furrowed. "You think the man in your dream is a hydra agent?"

Pietro looked away. "I guess."

Eyes narrowing, Clint could sense Pietro wasn't telling him the entire story and leaned forward slightly to try and get a better look at the kid's face. "Pietro, talk to me… You don't have to go through this alone, Pietro. You can talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

A deep sigh was quietly exhaled from Pietro's nose and he turned to face Clint, a forced smile etched across his lips. "Sorry, it's nothing.. I'm just tired is all."

"Pietro…" Clint sighed sympathetically. "Can I help…? Is there anything I could do that would make you feel better?"

Pietro stared at him for a moment, eyes heavily lidded. "Why?"

"What?" Clint asked, confused. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Why do you want to help me?" Pietro questioned, frowning. "Why…? I-I don't even know what's real anymore."

Clint shifted closer, noting that Pietro's breathing was picking up. "Kid?"

"Why?" Pietro repeated, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes as his chest heaved weakly. A clawed hand rose to his throat. "I.. can't breathe… I can't breathe..!"

"Kid!" Clint exclaimed fearfully, leaping up to kneel in front of Pietro on the bed, bracing a hand to the side of his neck. "Pietro! Pietro, look at me. Just look at me, okay? Focus on my voice, I think you're having a panic attack. You need to slow your breathing to try and control it."

Pietro's eyes flickered somewhat unsteadily, his gaze eventually coming to rest on Clint's storm-grey irises. There was a slight alteration in his rapid breaths, the sound hitching weakly before shaking in an effort to even out. Clint gave a reassuring smile, slowly dragging the pad of his thumb across Pietro's cheekbone.

"That's it…" He whispered his encouragement. "That's it, kid. Breathe for me now. This is real, right here, right now."

Pietro closed his eyes, head dropping slightly as he fought for control over his breathing. A trembling hand lifted to press against Clint's chest, palm flat against his heart. Clint's hand joined it, laying over Pietro's and curling his fingers over the side of the thumb slightly.

"I'm here, Pietro… You're not alone, I'm right here."

Pietro's breathing calmed at his words but he didn't move, remaining still until his eyes opened, lifting his head slightly. His eyes were heavy as he gazed up at Clint. Wordlessly, his hand moved to curl around Clint's shoulder, pulling himself closer until he could slump against the archer.

Clint wrapped an arm around his shoulders, turning his face to the top of Pietro's head. "Ask me, kid… Anything and I'll do it."

Pietro was quiet for a moment and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft and quiet. "Stay."

Nodding, Clint gently tightened his grip on the young man, mindful of his ribs. "You want me to stay, then I'll stay.. As long as you need, I'll stay with you."

Seeming to deflate with relief, Pietro turned to curl up against Clint's chest. Clint gently worked his fingers through locks of pale hair, inspiring a soft sigh from the kid.

"Thank you, Clint."


	22. Chapter 22

Something was beeping in Clint's ear.

His fatigued mind took it for his alarm clock and he made the decision to ignore it; it would stop soon. But it was persistent. The pace increased with each passing second and, realisation hitting him suddenly, Clint's eyes snapped open, raising his head.

Pietro lay twitching on the bed that Clint had previously had his head rested on the edge of. His chest heaved with erratic breaths, eyes flitting beneath closed eyelids. His face flickered into a pained expression, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. His breathing was hitching, catching in his throat and he was starting to wheeze.

"Pietro!"

Clint glanced over his shoulder to see Owen racing into the room, skidding to a halt at his patient's side. A hand briefly lay to Pietro's forehead before dropping down to press two fingers to the side of his neck, his eyes narrowing anxiously at the result.

"Pulse is through the roof." He glanced to Clint. "Did something happen?"

Clint shook his head. "I don't know; he was like this when I woke up."

Owen rushed to a cabinet to fetch something, leaving Clint with Pietro for a moment. The young man thrashed violently, an anguished whimper escaping his lips, the sound ripping at Clint's chest like a bullet. Owen returned quickly enough, a hand carefully setting to Pietro's throat, forcing his head to tilt back slightly and arranging an oxygen mask to cover his mouth and nose.

"Try to keep him still." Owen muttered, nodding as Clint raced a hand against Pietro's shoulder, another setting to his hip. "Yeah, that's good.. I don't want to sedate him based on his recent… Well, I don't think narcotics are going to be the best thing for him right now."

Clint's jaw clenched, understanding that Owen was right, but wishing that it didn't have to bring the drugs up again. He felt Pietro writhe under his hands, his muscles twitching and convulsing in a disorientated attempt to move his body. A whimpering moan left Pietro's lips.

"Shh, shh, hey." Owen hushed him sharply, his middle finger aligning with Pietro's trachea, the rest spreading over his neck to steady his head. "Hey, come on, kid…" He gave a sharp sigh, his concern venting as frustration. "He needs to wake up but if it's forced he could jolt his ribs."

"I'll do it." Clint offered, inclining his head to Owen's hands. "Take my place with his chest, I'll try and wake him."

They swapped positions and Clint moved a hand to cradle the side of Pietro's jaw. He forced his expression to remain neutral, refusing to reveal how vulnerable Pietro's pained expression was making him feel. Loose strands of pale hair had spilled over Pietro's forehead and he smoothed them back, using the action as an attempt to rouse him.

"Pietro…" He coaxed gently, stroking his head. "Pietro, you're dreaming. I need you to wake up now."

Pietro's eyes snapped open almost immediately and the action was so sudden that Clint flinched. Pietro's head jerked slightly as if he were attempting to sit up, but Clint gently held a hand to his collarbone, immobilising him.

"Hey, steady." He murmured, smoothing out Pietro's forehead again. "Steady, it's alright.. You were dreaming, Pietro. We had to wake you in case you damaged your ribs."

Pietro's lips parted, his eyelids heavy now, but he didn't speak, simply giving a small nod before relaxing back against the pillows. His eyes closed and he exhaled a quiet sigh. Clint's eyes narrowed pityingly. The kid was so exhausted, so frail.

"Do you want something to help you sleep, Pietro?" Owen asked, clearly picking up on Pietro's evident exhaustion too. "I can give you a little morphine if your ribs are troubling you."

Pietro shook his head weakly. "No…" He murmured, his voice ragged and faint. "No.. drugs… No drugs…"

Owen glanced to Clint briefly, a worried frown set over his features before turning back to gaze down at Pietro. "Okay…" He said gently. "Okay, try to get back to sleep. I'll keep a close eye on the monitors this time."

Pietro seemed a little reluctant to sleep, hesitating before allowing his head to fall into a natural sleeping position. Even when his eyes finally closed, they were too forcibly tight for him to be asleep. Clint and Owen exchanged a concerned glance.

The recurring nightmares were just piling up the list of problems stacked upon Pietro. His physical condition only seemed to be getting worse and, in addition, over the past few weeks his mental state had quickly deteriorated too. The young man was consistently exhausted, despite his immobilised state due to the problems with his ribs.

Clint couldn't find the time to let exhaustion catch up with him. He had long since drowned his sleep schedule in coffee and worry. It wasn't in his right to complain, however. He had promised Wanda that he'd take care of her brother. If Clint suffered some kind of excessive-coffee-sleep-deprived heart attack however, he'd probably blame himself for staying up to keep an eye on Pietro for too long.

Certainly at this rate, looking after Pietro was going to kill him.

* * *

Clint slammed a clenched fist against the punch bag.

After ten minutes of hard training, his breathing was picking up. But it wasn't enough. His body longed for power, for pain to shoot through his knuckles, but he couldn't feel anything. Why did he feel so numb?

Owen had ordered him to leave the medic room on the account that he needed to rest. Clint didn't want to rest, he wasn't tired and his mind wouldn't allow it. He couldn't stop thinking about the conversation between Pietro and himself. The young man had looked so sad, so scared.

But of what?

Clint struck the punch bag again, keeping his fist embedded in the material as he heard footsteps behind him.

"How's Pietro?"

Clint sunk a second fist into the bag, letting it linger there as he caught his breath.

"Holding up."

There were footsteps and a firm hand gripped Clint's shoulder, turning him round so he could look up into blue eyes. Steve looked worried.

"You need to sleep, Clint." He murmured gently. "You can't go on like this. You'll make yourself sick."

"I'm fine." Clint growled, pulling away. Of course Owen would send Steve goddamn Rogers to try and persuade him. "I don't need to sleep, I'm fine."

Steve's jaw clenched, obviously disagreeing but he didn't press. "I heard Pietro's... He's been taking drugs.."

Clint looked away, the anger dissolving as he tried not to relive the look of fear in Pietro's eyes after the substance had entered his system. "He's going through a rough patch." He muttered, the next words escaping his lips without his consent. "He asked me to help him and I didn't know how..."

Steve frowned. "Help him with what?"

Clint shrugged weakly, which he knew wasn't good enough. "I don't know... But he didn't want to take that drug... After he did it..." He swallowed thickly. "He looked so scared... I couldn't do anything to help him because I didn't know how, Steve..."

"Clint, you can't blame yourself." Steve chided quietly. "He was drugged, confused, he wasn't thinking straight."

Clint shook his head. "It's not good enough, Steve... I should know what to do. I should have been able to calm him down."

"You've only known him for a few months, pal..." Steve countered gently.

"He took fourteen bullets for me." Clint retorted shortly. "He ran in front of machine-gun fire for me. The least I could do is help him when he asks for it... He shouldn't have to feel that kind of fear anymore."

Clint frowned suddenly, remembering the look in Pietro's eyes when Dyson had interrupted them during one of his 'episodes'. That had been more than fear. That had been unprecedented terror. Was he scared of someone discovering his suicide attempt…? Or did it go deeper?

Was he afraid of Zaine?

"Clint?"

He realised that he'd successfully lost himself in his own mind and shook his head to clear the memories. Steve was staring down at him anxiously, clearly concerned that Clint was having some kind of flashback judging by the hands braced to each of Clint's shoulders.

"Clint, are you okay? Can you see me?"

Clint shrugged his hands away. "I'm fine. Don't worry, I was just thinking."

"About?"

Clint's lips parted without a reply prepared but, coincidently, he didn't have to answer. Owen's familiar voice echoed through the communicator in Clint's ear. The words saved him from having to reply to Steve but at the cost of sending dread rushing through his mind.

"Clint, we have a problem."

Clint's imagination immediately snapped to worse case scenarios. Pietro's condition might have deteriorated. He turned to race down the hall, skidding round corners so fast it was a miracle he stayed on his feet. Heavy steps clattered behind him, Steve keeping pace the entire way, running into the medic room seconds behind Clint. He almost slammed straight into the archer as he halted abruptly, finding his footing and lifting his head to follow Clint's gaze.

The bed was empty. Stray IV lines were dangling down the sides and sprawled over the covers of the bed. The sheets were thrown back haphazardly, crumpled fabric spilling down the side of the mattress.

Owen stood beside the bed, a hand halfway through his hair, his face pale and distressed.

"Where's Pietro?" Clint asked, panic hitting his chest, taking a step closer when the doctor shook his head. "Owen!"

"I don't know!" Owen exclaimed, his forehead creased with fear and worry. "I was here just ten minutes ago. Agent Dyson came to see him but he was asleep. He said he'd watch over him while I went to get something for Pietro to eat when he woke."

Steve's eyes narrowed anxiously. "I'll check the bathroom. Dyson could have just taken him to the toilet or something."

The soldier ran off but Clint didn't move, frozen in place with wide eyes. Dyson...?

Suddenly everything clicked, the information linking and connecting in Clint's mind. This had all started months ago, back directly after the battle. But no, it wasn't straight away. Pietro had been doing so well until... until Zaine had begun training with him.

S.H.I.E.L.D agents didn't tend to let go of grudges easily, Clint knew that first hand. It had taken weeks for them to start trusting him after the battle in New York, after he'd had his mind warped by Loki and was forced to kill fellow agents.

Maybe Zaine blamed Pietro for the battle against Ultron, in which six agents had lost their lives protecting civilians from the metallic copies. Maybe he'd decided Pietro needed to be punished for joining Hydra and siding with Ultron. Maybe he was hurting him right now.

"Owen, stay here in case they come back." Clint ordered, taking off for the door.

"Hurry." Owen urged, causing Clint to falter at the door. "If Pietro's not careful he could push a broken rib against his lung. He's already got problems with his breathing but if he punctures a lung... I might not be able to help him."

As much as it pained Clint to picture Pietro's life ending with the kid gasping for air in a hospital bed, the image gave him a sense of determination and he forced a stiff nod. If he didn't find Pietro soon, that could be how this ended.

Unintentionally slamming the door behind him, he took off in a sprint, heading for the training room and hoping with everything he had that he wouldn't be too late.

* * *

 **A/N- Okay, I just wanted a quick check on the severity of language it's okay with me using because, judging by my notes for the next few chapters, I won't be able to convey certain characters emotional states well enough if I can't dip past the language barrier a little. I can up the audience rating if it's necessary or I can put warnings at the start of chapters.**

 **Please let me know if that's okay because I don't want you guys reading anything you're uncomfortable with.**

 **(Minor language has probably already slipped out at certain points in the story, I don't know how sensitive to language you guys are DX)**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N- Okay this chapter is pretty long compared to previous chapters but I didn't want to split it into short pieces. On we go; get ready for 3,000+ of our lil' speedmeister ;)**

* * *

Pietro couldn't be missing.

Steve's mind was whirling, his thoughts in complete turmoil as he scanned both ways on the intersection of three corridors before setting off down to the left, in the direction of the nearest carrier-public bathrooms. Pietro's ribs were broken, he couldn't be moving around alone. Agent Dyson must be with him. But he must have known that Pietro was in no fit state to be moved.

Pietro was stubborn but it wasn't just about that, not this time. He was young and he was scared. Steve needed to speak to him, he needed to understand why this was happening.

Another intersection, although Steve only had to glance to the right once, double-take in shock as he caught sight of them.

Pietro seemed to be sat- slumped may have been a more appropriate term- against the wall several metres down the hallway, his back to Steve and his head low. Zaine stood beside him looking down at him a moment, mumbling something that was muffled even for Steve's hearing, before getting to one knee beside the kid, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Agent Dyson?" Steve inquired, rushing towards them. "Dyson!" He called again, causing Zaine to lift his head, scrambling to his feet to greet the soldier.

"Captain, thank god. I thought he was okay but he-he just collapsed all of a sudden." The words came out as a rush and Steve could see the agent was visibly distressed. "I'd just taken him to the bathroom, he looked fine but then he… he just.."

Steve crouched beside Pietro, absently assuring Zaine as he looked over the kid. "It's alright, it's not your fault."

He gently took the side of Pietro's jaw, turning his head slightly. Heat struck his palm and he was shocked by the sheen of sweat already gathered over Pietro's forehead. His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly as he heaved in shallow breaths. A trickle of blood trailed down the side of his face, dripping from a gash to his forehead. The same crimson was smudged over the wall.

"He collapsed against the wall?" He checked, glancing back to Zaine.

The agent nodded. "Yes, with some force as well."

Steve's eyes narrowed in pity as his eyes set on Pietro again. "Probably knocked himself out when he fell… Alright then.." He gently scooped Pietro up in his arms, cradling the kid against his chest so as not to put too much strain on his fragile ribs. "Come on.." He beckoned to Dyson. "He needs medical attention."

The walk back down the corridor was made in silence, Zaine trailing behind as Steve led the way back where he'd come from.

* * *

"Pietro!"

Steve glanced up to see Clint sprinting down the hallway towards him, skidding to a halt in front of him with his eyes fixed on Pietro limp form, cradled against Steve's chest.

"Oh christ…" He muttered, hurriedly touching Pietro's forehead, to the side that wasn't bleeding. "Oh jesus christ, what… what the hell happened?"

"Clint, it's alright." Steve murmured, his steps hesitant to form, unsure that Clint would follow; the archer did, waking right beside him. "It's okay, he's just unconscious. He fell, he knocked himself out, but he's gonna be alright."

Clint's eyes hardened as they reached the medic room, his jaw tight as he pushed open the door. "Did you see it…? Did you see what happened?"

Steve frowned, moving to lay Pietro on the hospital bed and casting a hurried glance to Owen as the doctor immediately began checking Pietro. "I.. Not directly, Clint, but Agent Dyson told me about it and Pietro looked like he'd fallen against the wall when I found them."

Behind Clint, Steve could see Zaine entering the room, but was too concerned with how angry Barton seemed to focus of him right now. Clint's jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his side. He stared over to Pietro, his gaze oddly distant.

"Clint…?"

"Dyson was with him, huh?" Clint growled. "What the hell was he doing moving Pietro like that?"

Steve's eyes flitted to the agent, who was now approaching the foot of Pietro's bed, his expression anxious as he looked down at his apprentice. "He said he was taking him to the bathroom… You of all people know how stubborn Pietro is; he wouldn't have wanted to show weakness, not in any form."

Over at the bed, doctor Harper was just finishing arranging the last of the IV and clips when the mountainous red line reading Pietro's pulse spiked. It stayed spiked. Pietro's body jerked back slightly, clenching. His fingers clawed at the sheets beneath him, every tendon showing in his arms as a continuous shudder racked his body.

"Pietro!" Clint exclaimed, rushing to his side and putting a hand to Pietro's forehead as his head thrashed. "Jesus… Pietro?!"

"Hold him still!" Owen ordered, setting his hands down to grip Pietro's wrist and shoulder. "He's having a seizure, try to hold him still or he could seriously injure himself."

Steve ran to Owen's side, holding Pietro's hip and knee, while Zaine went to stand beside Clint, mirroring Steve's position on Pietro's right. Clint was preoccupied with keeping Pietro's thrashing head in place. Pietro was making the most heart-breaking sounds, half-formed whimpers hitching in his throat as his body seized without his control.

"Shh, shh.." Clint hushed him urgently. "It's okay, kid.. It'll stop soon, it's okay… Keep breathing, remember to breathe. It's gonna be okay.."

The noises began to subside, fading into small gasps and, by the time Pietro's body slowly began to relax, he was breathing almost steadily. Three men eased their hands away but Clint remained, his eyes never leaving Pietro's face, gently running his hand over the young man's head.

Zaine gently touched Pietro's hand. "Clint, I-"

Clint moved so fast he was almost a blur. In half a second, he whipped around, shoving Zaine back so hard that the agent staggered back into the wall. Zaine stood clutching the wall, stunned a moment. Steve took a shocked step forward.

"Get the hell away from him!" Clint growled, standing defensively between Zaine and Pietro. "Don't you fucking touch him."

"Clint?!" Steve exclaimed, unaccustomed to hearing the archer's use of language against another agent. He made his way around the end of the bed, stepping forward to set a firm hand to Clint's shoulder, half comforting, half holding him back. "Clint, calm down."

"Why did you move him?" Clint pressed, trying to move and straining against Steve's grip for a moment before simply standing, allowing himself to be held back. "Why did you move him? Answer me already!"

Steve pulled him back slightly, angry now. "Clint, stop it. I'm willing to bet Pietro asked him to, you know what he's like… Dyson was just trying to help."

"Yeah, he's a good actor." Clint hissed, his eyes alight with anger. He turned to the soldier, lowering his voice for only Steve's ears. "I don't want him here." He muttered, barely suppressing the rage from his tone. "Please, just make him leave. I don't want him near Pietro."

Steve frowned. "What is this, Clint..? Tell me what's happening."

Clint shook his head. "Not here, Steve. Not now… I need to be with Pietro, I have to protect him… Please, just-" He took a steadying breath. "Just make him leave. I don't want anyone but me and Owen in here."

Steve studied his face but found no sign of anything that would help him figure out what was going through Clint's mind at that moment. He simply nodded, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere if he didn't compromise a little.

"Fine, Clint. We'll talk later, okay?" Clint nodded absently, turning back to Pietro and Steve's eyes narrowed in concern. He set his expression to neutral and he glanced over to Agent Dyson, inclining his head in a signal for him to follow. "Come with me."

Zaine pushed himself off the wall, his forcibly calm expression an indication to how shaken he must have been at Clint's actions. Steve felt a rush of pity for him but they walked in silence until Steve has closed the room's door behind them. Only then, did Zaine speak up.

"Captain Rogers, did I…" He paused briefly. "Did I do something wrong, sir?"

Steve hesitated.

Yes, objectively speaking Zaine shouldn't have taken Pietro anywhere without a doctor's assistance or at least permission. It was an honest mistake however. Zaine probably felt like he needed to do something and if Pietro had asked him then that was on the kid for not managing himself properly.

"No.." Steve assured him, offering a small smile to cement his words. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. Clint-" He broke off, glancing to the closed door and feeling a swell of concern for the archer. "He's fond of Pietro… After what Maximoff did for him in Sokovia, I think he feels responsible for him somehow."

Zaine's jaw clenched and Steve blinked his sympathy. The battle had been hard on everyone and the memories weren't easy to deal with. Steve supposed Zaine had a kind of connection with Pietro too, a kind of bond between mentor and student.

"Clint's going through a rough patch." He continued, trying to explain Barton's abrasive behaviour. "He hasn't been sleeping… I've been expecting him to snap for a while now, trying to prevent it but I guess… Well, he clearly didn't take any of my advice… I'm sorry he lost it at you. I'm sure he didn't mean it to come out like that; he's just overprotective."

Dyson nodded. "I understand, sir."

Steve looked at him searchingly, deciding he must be decisively shaken. "Are you okay?"

He nodded again. "Yes, sir, I just… It was unexpected. That's all." Zaine cast a glance to the door of the medical room. "Agent Barton… He really cares about him, doesn't he?"

Steve nodded. "Yes." He followed Zaine's gaze, looking over at the door. "Yes, he does."

* * *

After Steve had led Zaine out, Clint assisted Owen by keeping Pietro calm as the doctor dressed the wound on his forehead.

"It's not too deep.." Owen explained gently, smoothing a third butterfly strip across the gash. "But it is most likely what caused the seizure so I'd like to take a head CT, just in case."

One scan later and they were back in the room, Clint sat at Pietro's side while Owen hunched over the results that he had spread out on the counter bordering one side of the room.

Clint just sat, his eyes locked onto Pietro's face, as if trying to uncover some secrets there. He was so strong. He'd survived the battle, he'd made it through recovery. What was it now that made it different? Why was he suffering so much now?

"Owen…" Clint murmured, hesitant.

"Yes?"

"Are…" Clint took a breath. "Are you qualified in.. umm, in therapeutic treatment?"

Clint finally tore his gaze from Pietro to see Owen glance over at him, frowning. "How do you mean…?" He asked, pushing himself away from the counter and walking over to stand beside the bed, opposite Clint. "You mean am I a therapist?"

"Yes."

Owen turned his gaze to Pietro's sleeping expression. "This is about him, right?" Clint didn't reply and Harper gave a small sigh, sitting on the edge of Pietro's bed, absently checking the IV line running into the back of his hand. "Maybe he just needs someone to listen to him…"

"I'm trying." Clint said, strained. "I'm trying, Owen."

"I know, Clint, I didn't mean…" Owen's voice trailed off and he sighed again. "You want him to see a therapist? I think it's a good idea."

Clint was quiet a moment. "I don't know… I… I don't want to force him into anything…"

"Clint." Owen's voice had a firm edge to it but was still gentle. "He's suicidal."

It was hard and brutal and.. and it was true. It was almost too real to comprehend because it was the truth. Clint couldn't see a way around that. He lowered his gaze to Pietro's hand, gently turning it so he could see the scars littered over Pietro's wrist, thicker than last time he'd seen them. God, it was like he was testing. Like he was seeing how far he could go.

Clint closed his eyes.

"He needs help, Clint." Owen continued, softer. "You know he does… He's tried so hard to convince everyone he's fine that maybe he started to believe it himself. But he's not… He's just not, Clint… The battle in Sovokia scarred him, not just physically but mentally as well. He needs someone to take control of his life and find some stability. Help him to help himself."

Eyes remaining shut, head bowed, Clint shook his head. "He needs to be in control of himself… He needs to know he can trust his own mind."

"He trusts you." Owen murmured gently. "You have to lead him."

Pietro groaned faintly, stirring slightly and causing Clint's eyes to snap open, lifting his head to stare at Pietro. He must be finally waking up.

No, something was wrong. His eyes were shut too tightly, his lower lip flaring. Pietro's body twisted suddenly, moaning weakly, and Clint anxiously ran a hand over the young man's head, trying to keep him still. Meanwhile, Owen rested his hands to Pietro's sides, checking his ribs.

"Owen, what's wrong with him?" He questioned urgently, shooting a glance to the doctor when he didn't reply, his jaw set in a hard line as he examined Pietro's chest. "Owen!"

"I don't know." Owen admitted tightly. "I can't find anything wrong with his chest. His lung hasn't been punctured. I don't…" His teeth clenched. "I don't know."

Pietro's head thrashed to the side, his lips moving in time with his laboured breathing. " _Bolí to_ …" He gasped something almost inaudible, heavily slurred with his efforts to heave in the air. "Clint… _prosím_ …"

Clint vaguely recognised the language as Sokovian and, although he couldn't understand Pietro's native tongue, he knew his own name well enough by now. Was Pietro trying to talk to him? Maybe he was mumbling about him? He glanced to Owen, brow furrowed.

"What's he saying? Can you understand it?"

Owen was frowning, shaking his head slightly. " _Prosím_ is please but I don't know what he said first…"

Clint's jaw tightened and he hurriedly ran his hand through Pietro's hair. "Please…? Why? Why is he saying that?"

"Pietro!"

Clint glanced over his shoulder to see Wanda rushing into the room, dressed down in casual civilian wear- a pair of black leggings and a flowy strap-top, leaf-coloured fabric spilling over her hips. It was the middle of the night. Clint assumed she was either visiting on coincidence or she had felt her brother's distress. Wanda halted at the bedside, her eyes narrowed in pity and concern.

"What happened?" She asked softly, staring down at her brother, moving restlessly as if suffering from a nightmare. "What… Clint?"

Clint shook his head, feeling utterly helpless and hating himself for it. "We don't know…" Pietro's lips moved breathlessly and he began to mutter again. "Do you know what he's saying?"

Wanda frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed and gazing down at her brother.

" _Je tma_ …" Pietro breathed faintly.

"It's dark." Wanda translated, her hand moving to grasp Pietro's hand.

" _Je to.. taká tma_ …"

"It's so dark."

" _Prosím_ …"

"Please."

" _To_ …"

"It…" Wanda leaned closer, gently angling her brother's head so he faced her. She closed her eyes, Pietro's words remaining inaudible to Clint and Owen but causing Wanda to turn her face, her lips brushing over Pietro's forehead as a soft sob escaped her lips. "He's in pain… ' _Bolí to'_ , he says it hurts.."

Clint glanced to Owen briefly. "Can we give him morphine?"

Owen hesitated, clearly reluctant, but Wanda spoke before he got the chance. "He doesn't need any drugs." She murmured firmly. "I don't want him to have any drugs. He doesn't like the morphine…" Her eyes glistened with tears as she gently stroked loose strands of hair from Pietro's forehead. "He can't cope with the nightmares… He can't…"

Owen cleared his throat quietly. "We might have to give him something to help him sleep…. I'm sorry, I can't promise it won't have a negative effect on his dreams, but-"

"No."

"Wanda…" Clint murmured, gently placing a hand to her shoulder. "He's hurt... He needs help, let us help him."

Wanda shook her head. "He doesn't want to dream.." She whispered. "Please, he can't take another nightmare. Please don't make him…"

"He needs to sleep.." Owen muttered anxiously. "He's exhausting his body. If he doesn't rest, he can't get better."

Pietro whimpered breathlessly, a hand snapping up to clench over the fabric of Clint's t-shirt. The archer flinched in surprise, blinking his shock before his eyes softened, lifting a hand to carefully ease Pietro's grip, sliding their fingers together so Pietro could grip his hand. That was how Clint judged pain levels and, going by the strength Pietro was grasping his hand with, the young man was in a hell of a lot of pain.

This was only certified when Pietro's eyelashes fluttered, parting slowly to reveal misted blue irises. His eyes flitted to the side, ticking up again so his gaze set on Clint. Pale, narrow lips parted a fraction, trembling pitifully.

"C… Clint…" Pietro just managed to splutter his name, although the sheer effort of it made his eyes roll back slightly. "Hurts… Please… Please…!"

"It's alright, kid…" Clint mumbled under his breath. He swallowed back an uncomfortable lump of grief forming in his throat, leaning forward to wipe a strand of hair from Pietro's forehead, tucking it behind his ear. "It's okay, Pietro. Everything's gonna be okay."

Pietro's eyelids fluttered. "Help…"

"Shh." Clint hushed him shortly, not trusting his voice to go louder than a gentle murmur. "I'm trying, okay…? You have to believe me when I say I'm trying but I…" He swallowed. "I don't know how, Pietro… You need to tell me how."

Pietro's hand weakened against Clint's, his breathing shuddering terribly, causing his eyes to flicker slightly. "I think…" He paused for air. "I think I deserve pain… I… I haven't s-suffered.. enough…"

Clint's eyes widened. "Pietro…"

Wanda echoed her brother's name, her voice softer than a whisper and filled with sorrow. Clint remained silently shocked.

Nothing like that had ever left Pietro's mouth. He'd been so purpose-driven, so sure of his own mind, until recently that is. Never had he thought he needed to be punished for his actions, possibly because whatever he had done, Wanda had accompanied him. If he had to suffer, it meant she had to suffer and Clint knew Pietro would never want that.

"Maybe I didn't die… in Sokovia because…" Pietro coughed weakly, his eyes glazed and, when he continued, his voice was faint. "Because it wasn't enough… It wasn't enough to die, I…. I needed to suffer more…"

"Stop it!" Clint hissed, gripping his hand too tight. "Just stop it, don't say that!"

Pietro's eyes drifted to the side, unfocused. "I wish I had died.. in Sokovia…"

"Pietro.." Wanda sobbed, reaching forward to smooth skiffs of white hair from Pietro's forehead. "Pietro, please don't… don't talk like that drahý… Let me help you, Pietro. I'll make it better, I promise I will.. Just tell me what to do… Just speak to us, Pietro. We'll listen."

There was quiet a moment, the steady beep of the machines bedside Pietro's bed the only sound audible. Pietro blinked, his eyes drifting over the ceiling.

"I want to sleep." He murmured quietly, his eyes closing.

"Pietro-"

"Please." Pietro's eyes opened, unusually focused for a moment before fading into a dulled glaze. "Please, Wanda…"

Wanda's lower lip trembled. "You can't do this Pietro… Please don't shut me out, it's not fair."

Pietro blinked slowly. "I'm tired, Wanda."

"Hey-" Clint gently put a hand to Wanda's shoulder, pulling her back slightly as Pietro's eyes closed. "Let him sleep.. It's late, you should be heading to bed too."

Wanda shook her head. "I can't leave him.. Bad things happen when I leave him."

Clint was stung.

He'd tried. He _had_ tried to look after the kid. Nothing he ever did seemed to work, nothing was enough to get through to Pietro. Clint wanted to help. He wanted to make Pietro better for good but he simply didn't know what to do anymore.

Wanda must've seen the look on his face. "Oh.. No, Clint, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." Clint muttered, shaking his head. "It's fine, don't worry… I just.. I need to take a walk."

He turned to the door, fishing his jacket off the back of the chair and pulling it on as he walked to the door, thrusting his hands into the pockets with his eyes downcast.

Wanda called after him but he didn't look back.


	24. Chapter 24

Tony raced down the corridor, footsteps echoing loudly against the shined floor.

Not that the others would know, but he'd been keeping up with Pietro's welfare in more detail than anyone. He had copies of all the medical files sent to his personal printer and he'd told Owen to keep him informed of every change. They'd spoken over a dozen times, Harper passing on information regarding Pietro's medical state.

Tony knew every symptom, every fever, every fatigued state, and every time, he'd stayed away. He doubted he'd be welcome. But not this time. This time Tony knew that he needed to intervene with Pietro's treatment.

He slammed through the door of the hospital room. As Tony had suspected, Pietro appeared to be suffering from a nightmare. Owen, leaning over Pietro as the young man twitched and moaned, glanced up, confusion narrowing his eyes as he caught sight of Tony.

"Mr Stark?" He asked, uncertain, as Tony rushed to Pietro's side. "What-?"

"He's not dreaming." Tony flew straight to the point, gently prising one of Pietro's eyes open to reveal rolled irises. "You thought he'd been having nightmares and so did I, until recently that is."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's having a reaction to the drug." Tony explained, impatient. "The seizure was a sign, I didn't realise what he'd taken."

Owen waved a hand to stop him. "Slow down, I won't be able to help him if you don't tell me what you know with some coherence."

"The drug he took a couple of days ago." Tony reminded Owen. "If he even took it himself, which I'm starting to doubt, it's called venom. It's very illegal and god knows how anyone can get a hold of the liquid type unless they have contacts in hydra's Estonian base. That's where it's manufactured." He felt Pietro's forehead. The pale skin was hot against his palm. "He's burning up. The morphine's enhanced the effects by interfering with his lucidity, you need to swap it out for fluids to counter the drug."

Owen nodded. "Yes, of course, but how do you know all this."

"Let's say my past isn't exactly crystal and leave it at that." Tony muttered. He ran the pad of his thumb across Pietro's lower lip, probing into his mouth slightly. "His mouth's dry. He needs to drink something."

"There's a water bottle on the side."

Minutes later, the IV line was now feeding fluids into Pietro's arm. Tony sat on the edge of the hospital bed, gently parting Pietro's lips with his thumb and trickling water into his parched mouth. Pietro stirred weakly but he didn't fight, his throat convulsing faintly as he swallowed.

Pietro's eyes flickered unsteadily. His eyes were dark, confused. "Wha..." He began raspingly before his eyes flitted to Tony's face. "Stark..?"

Tony gave a brief smile, carefully dripping another mouthful of water past Pietro's lips. "You're gonna have a hell of a recovery to get through, kid..."

Pietro swallowed a second mouthful, coughing slightly. "What...?"

"You've had a reaction to the drug.. it took a couple days to kick in, because of your power's effects on your body's system, but it's what caused the seizure.." Tony put a hand to the uninjured side of his forehead, rubbing his thumb to Pietro's head. "IV's making sure you get some fluids and I'm making sure your mouth doesn't get so dry that you end up choking."

Pietro coughed weakly, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment, and Tony gently took hold of his shoulders, carefully helping him to sit up and setting him back against the pillows.

He gave Pietro some more water, wiping the trails of liquid from the kid's jaw with his hand. Pietro didn't complain, which worried Tony slightly. The young man who had been so resilient during the battle with Ultron, so quick to snap, to deny any offer of help because he didn't want to seem weak... Where had he gone?

The Pietro he saw now just looked tired, sad in a way that made him seem hollow. Tony knew that kind of sad. That was the kind of sad that kept you up at night, the kind that made you struggle not to cry all the time, the kind that made you want everything to stop. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not Pietro after he'd already been through so much.

Tony gently lay a hand to Pietro's shoulder, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. "Who's hurting you, Pietro?" The words made Pietro frown, almost as if he was surprised. "Don't insult my intelligence by trying to hide. I know someone's been hurting you and I know you didn't take that drug yourself... You can talk to me, I... I understand."

Pietro shook his head, glancing away. "You don't."

"Kid, my loving father used to hit me til I bled. I was kidnapped and tortured by terrorists and I'm not trying to demean your problems, I just want you to know I understand, okay?" Pietro's eyes were wide, shocked. "Give me a name and I promise they will never touch you again."

Pietro was silent a moment, seeming to be going through it in his head. "I didn't know..." He murmured quietly after a while. His eyes locked with Tony's. "I'm sorry."

"Pietro." Tony murmured gently. "Tell me their name."

Pietro's eyes locked with his and Tony saw there everything he had felt as a kid. The blue irises held grief and regret, his eyes heavy and tired. He looked exhausted, fragile. Tony wanted to rest a hand on his shoulder, to touch and ground him, to assure him it was okay. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Pietro was damaged glass. If Tony touched him, he feared the kid would break.

Pietro didn't reply.

Tony sighed. He hated pushing someone to talk. "Pietro-"

"I can't."

His voice was quiet. So, so quiet but Tony caught it and the words made him fall silent. Pietro's voice was strained and, god, he sounded so young, so hurt. He shouldn't have to sound like that, it wasn't right for him to sound like that.

Pietro glanced up at him. "You said you understand... Do you understand why I can't?"

Tony thought back to his father. The word of a teenage boy against that of a respected genius, a war hero. He couldn't say anything because no one would have believed him, because despite everything Howard had done, Tony could never truly hate him. He was his father after all.

"I… Maybe.." He mumbled. "I think so, yeah." He was quiet for a moment, still until he finally reached out, gently touching Pietro's shoulder. "I won't ask again, not if you don't want me to…" His hand drifted to smooth a skiff of white hair, which had fallen across Pietro's forehead, back into place. "But I want to help, okay…? Will you let me help you?"

Pietro shook his head ruefully. "You can't help me."

"I'm on your side here, Pietro. I want to protect you from whatever bastard's giving you grief. I will. I'm going to protect you."

Pietro glanced away, turning over with his back to Tony.

"No one can protect me from this."

* * *

Pietro shouldn't have done it. He knew that.

He'd finally got away, finally out of that damn medical room that he'd been stuck in for however long. He hated it in there, hated Zaine for putting him in there, hated people who said that they understood when they didn't. Not that they had done anything wrong. No, Pietro hated the fact that he couldn't tell them what was really going on.

Everything hurt so that he was barely able to walk but he did, he kept moving, kept walking until his chest burned. He veered into the nearest room, shutting the door and leaning up against the wall with a hand clutching his ribs, eyes squeezed shut tight, sucking air through gritted teeth.

He didn't want this anymore. He was in so much pain all the time; Doctor Harper couldn't even let him have morphine anymore in fear of it worsening the drug's effects.

Taking a hurried glance around the room, he staggered to the bed, slumping onto the edge and shakily pulling open a drawer on the bedside table. There was a brown leather book, titled _journal_ , lying beneath a pistol. Pietro picked up the gun, unloading it briefly to check the bullet count before clicking it back in. There were a total of three bullets loaded into the gun.

Near the back of the drawer, Pietro found a small bottle of prescription pills. There was a yellow-orange tint to the plastic casing and the label, among other scripture, read _Xanax_. Pietro turned it over in his hand, finding the word sedative and not needing much else to convince him.

Pietro tipped a handful of pills into his hand, cramming them into his mouth and struggling a swallow without a second thought.

The gun's weight was heavy in his hand and he looked down at it. The image doubled as his vision blurred. His eyelids slipped, the gun fell from his hand and clattered onto the floor.

Pietro's eyes closed and he felt himself falling before darkness claimed him.

* * *

Clint trudged along the corridor, his third walk in two days.

He'd been reluctant to return to the medical room. He knew she hadn't meant it like that, but Wanda's words had hurt him in a way he couldn't remember experiencing before.

 _Bad things happen when I leave him…_

It was true. That was the terrible thing about it.

Clint had tried so hard to help Pietro- after what the kid sacrificed in the battle it was the least he could do- but it wasn't enough. He wasn't Pietro's father, he had no right to even be near him; it _was_ his fault Pietro was in this state after all. Pietro had died for _him_.

A subdued muttering drew him from his thoughts and he glanced up, frowning in confusion. The door to Banner's room was ajar.

Clint's eyes narrowed. He hadn't seen the doctor in weeks; the man had disappeared during the battle, hijacked a Quinjet and flown off to god knows where. Clint had brushed it off. If Bruce wanted to be alone that was his business, who had the right to try and stop him with that?

But that voice… He recognised that voice…

Trailing a hand over the doorframe, he glanced into the room. "Bru-" His voice died in his throat, eyes widening, not because of the doctor's sudden reappearance, but because of who Banner was knelt beside.

"Pietro…"

The young man lay sprawled on his back, his eyes closed, expression slack. He seemed to be asleep, but, if he was, he'd have woken by now in response to Bruce's attempts to rouse him. He was clearly unconscious.

But that wasn't the worst thing. No, worse than that was the fact that there was a handgun lying on the floor near Pietro's head. Clint was immediately filled with a bout of self-loathing as he mentally kicked himself for not being there to stop this.

"Pietro?" Bruce was calling, leaning over the kid and lightly slapping the side of Pietro's face a few times. "Pietro, can you hear me?"

"Bruce, what happened?" Clint asked quickly as he rushed to kneel on Pietro's other side, hurriedly threading his fingers through Pietro's hair wth his gaze firmly set on the kid's face. "What's wrong with him?"

Bruce shook his head. "He's breathing. I can't find an injury…" He glanced up, swearing under his breath. "Clint, is there a bottle out? A prescription one?"

Clint raised his head, reaching out to take a pill bottle in his hand. "Yeah, it's empty though.. _Xanax_ …" He paused, looking from the bottle to Pietro. "Hang on, that's a sedative isn't it?"

"Jesus christ…" Bruce muttered under his breath, leaning over Pietro again, slapping his cheek. "Pietro! Pietro, wake up, damnit…" He gave an irritated growl. "Why the hell would he take all of them? What's he trying to do to himself?"

Clint bit his tongue. He knew Bruce had some issues with what Pietro was going through, hence the sedatives and the gun he supposed, but now wasn't the time to indulge in that kind of conversation.

He raised a hand and clicked a finger to his earpiece, switching it on. "Harper," he said into the device, not quite a question.

"Clint!" The reply was rushed and breathless. "Thank god, I've been trying to call you. Listen, have you seen Pietro? He's-"

"Here," Clint finished for him, moving to check Pietro's pulse. "He's here. You need to get to Banner's room stat."

"Why's he in Banner's room?"

"Owen, just hurry. His pulse is getting weaker…"

* * *

 **A/N- Yeah, Bruce is here now.**


	25. Chapter 25

It was almost too late.

Even though Harper and his team arrived quickly to take Pietro to a medical room, although they set him down on the bed gently, attached clips and wires to his body to monitor him, even after all of that, they were still nearly too late.

Since the doctors arrived in Banner's room, Clint's features were set in a stubbornly emotionless expression but his eyes never once left Pietro's face. Bruce observed him carefully, watching every jump of muscle in Clint's jaw when the doctor's moved Pietro onto a stretcher. He didn't offer his counsel, now wasn't the time and, in all honestly, he would neither be able to find the words, nor believe himself to have any right to advise the archer.

It was entirely obvious that, while Bruce had been gone, Clint had formed a strong relationship with the kid. Bruce couldn't help but fear the long and arduous road to recovery Pietro had ahead. He stayed near Clint, lingering back a little, but remaining close as the doctor's rushed Pietro to a medical room. His hand gripped the side of the stretcher, his knuckles brushing against Pietro's pale fingers, seeming to need to feel the life beneath Pietro's skin even as the young man was moved onto the bed.

Practically the second Pietro was wired up to the machines the monitors started going ninety to a dozen in mere seconds. Owen's team ushered Clint and Bruce back, milling around Pietro, one arranged an oxygen mask over his mouth while Owen eased Pietro's shirt up over his head and urgently felt the young man's chest, smoothing his fingers along accentuated strips of ribs.

"Sir, his liver's shutting down!" A man with an iPad-like device informed desperately, holding it over Pietro's abdomen, appearing to be scanning him.

Clint started forward but Bruce gripped a hand to his shoulder, holding him in place. "Wait, don't.."

The cardiac machine flat-lined and Owen glanced to the monitors desperately. "We're losing him!"

"Goddamn it!" Clint growled, breaking away from Bruce and rushing to Pietro's side, aggressively taking the kid's limp hand. "Don't die on me you bastard! You don't go anywhere, do you hear me?

Pietro suddenly gave a full-body flinch and heaved in a shaky breath.

The monitor spiked abruptly, evening out into a steady rhythm.

"Owen," another doctor called. "He's stabilising."

Owen frowned. "What? How?"

The doctor turned a tablet screen towards him. "His cellular reparation rate increased suddenly.. I suppose it is due to his power but it's restoring the damage done to his liver…" The doctor glanced to Clint. "Keep talking to him, I think it's helping."

Clint sat on the edge of the hospital bed, lacing his fingers with Pietro's. "Whatever you're doing, kid, keep at it… You have to fight this thing."

What he didn't expect was for Pietro's eyes to flutter open, blue irises drifting to set on his face. The kid was in pain. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that, he could see in Pietro's eyes. His irises were filled with anguish, his eyelids low with exhaustion, his chest hitching with every breath.

"Clint…" he whispered, choked, and that was really all Clint needed to hear.

"Shh, shh," he hushed quickly, moving a hand up and stroking Pietro's head. "It's okay, I know it hurts. It's alright… Just breathe steadily, we've got you now. It's going to be okay, I promise."

Pietro shook his head, swallowing thickly. "No, I don't… I don't want.. don't want this…"

"Please don't," Clint murmured, grief-stricken.

"Clint…"

"Please, Pietro."

"Let me die…" Pietro breathed faintly, wincing and closing his eyes. "Please, Clint.. It hurts… Hurts so much…"

Clint hushed him again, softer this time, and gently smoothed his hand over Pietro's head. "Shh, I know, I know… I…" He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling utterly helpless. "I can't help you… I'm sorry, Pietro. I tried, I tried to help you but I can't.. Please forgive me, I'm so sorry.."

Pietro's eyes fluttered, obviously still feeling the effects of the drugs. "I want to die… Please, just.. please let me die…"

A hand grasped Clint's shoulder and he glanced around to see Owen gazing down at him sympathetically. He turned back and subtly wiped at his eyes before patting Pietro's knuckles gently and heaving himself to his feet. Looking over to Owen, he crossed his arms over his chest, resigned.

"Go on," he murmured, knowing that Harper was about to give him the medical evaluation.

Owen seemed a little reluctant but took a breath and glanced down to his clipboard. "The sedatives he took should have knocked him out for at least six more hours so I think the alterations in his power shocked him awake. If he doesn't sleep again soon I think we should sedate him again; he seems to be in a lot of pain. If it's okay with you we can give him some morphine or if you like we can swap it out for something new. We've been working on something that's really difficult to become immune to and-"

"Why are you still coming to me for this?" Clint muttered. "Why are you asking my permission? Isn't this kind of thing for family members to decide on? Ask Wanda if you want to swap out his meds."

Owen was quiet for a moment and he hugged his clipboard to his chest, glancing up at Clint. "You're listed as a next of kin."

Clint blinked rapidly, confused. "What?"

"You're technically his official guardian," Owen explained, glancing at the ground. "He listed you alongside Wanda a couple months ago and you being the older of the two, you're the go-to… I thought you knew."

Clint shook his head, bewildered. He glanced to the kid, whose eyelids were low and slipping as he struggled to cling to consciousness on the bed. It felt as though something was lodged in Clint's throat and swallowing almost made him choke up in his grief.

"He asks for you when you aren't here anyway…"

As if on cue, Pietro moaned weakly and Clint leaned down to stroke his head. "It's alright, kid," he soothed gently. "It's alright, it's gonna be okay now."

"It hurts," Pietro whimpered. "Make it stop… It hurts."

Clint glanced to doctor Harper. "Owen-"

"I know."

"Please…" Pietro breathed out, eyes closed. "Please make it stop, Clint.. Make it stop…"

Clint hushed him quietly, glancing to Owen as the doctor moved to check the IV in Pietro's hand, switching out the drug supply at the end of the tube. Harper moved to sit on the edge of Pietro's bed, gently feeling the young man's forehead. Pietro's eyelids slipped a little and he blinked slowly, drowsily. Owen's eyes narrowed pityingly.

"We're putting you to sleep now, Pietro," he murmured quietly. "We'll make you better. Promise."

* * *

Pietro's eyes snapped open.

As he went to sit up, a hand set to his shoulder, pushing him back.

"Easy, Pietro," a voice soothed gently. "Take it easy now. You've been unconscious for several hours."

Pietro blinked in confusion; he didn't recognise that voice. Glancing to the side, his gaze fell on Dr Banner who stood beside his bed. The doctor gently pushed him back before falling into a, notably forced though attempting colloquial, stance, his arms folded over his chest.

"I thought you'd left..." Pietro muttered quietly, confused and, strangely, slightly nervous. There was something in Banner's eyes. Something thoughtful and dangerous.

There was silence for a moment and Bruce didn't once move his gaze from Pietro's face, causing Pietro to frown up at him.

"Why...?" Bruce whispered suddenly and the sincerity and disappointment in his voice made Pietro wince. "Why, Pietro? Why would you try to do that to yourself?"

Pietro glanced away, sullen. "Why should you care?"

Bruce gripped his shoulder, causing him to glance back at the doctor's face, surprised. "Of course I care, Pietro. I care because I won't see someone as young as you throw your life away. I care because you took my medication to try and kill yourself, Pietro. That means I'm now involved in whatever is happening here."

Pietro narrowed his eyes, apologetic. "It was yours... I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"For God's sake, Pietro," Bruce cut him off, guessing what he was apologising for and sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. "I don't care about the damn pills, I care about what you tried to use them for."

Pietro cast his eyes down to his lap. "I shouldn't be here..." he whispered, as if speaking to himself. He winced faintly, bringing a hand up to cradle his ribs. "I..." He winced again, closing his eyes.

"Pietro..."

"It hurts..." Pietro muttered.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently. "What hurts, Pietro? Let me help you, what hurts?"

"Everything," answered Pietro weakly. "I... I don't want this..."

"Do you want me to get Harper? Or Clint, I can get Clint."

Pietro shook his head and Bruce assumed he was frustrated, that is, until he caught sight of the glistening trails running down Pietro's cheeks and dripping from his clenched jaw onto his lap.

"Oh.." Bruce said faintly, unsure of how to comfort him. "Pietro, don't... It's okay, just take deep breaths. I- please you shouldn't- don't look like that- Pietro- damnit."

He wrapped an arm around Pietro's shoulders, squeezing him close, his free hand moving to gently wipe tear tracks from Pietro's face. Pietro turned his face against Bruce's collarbone, inhaling a shuddering breath and letting it out as a barely controlled sob. His shoulders shook with every half-stifled sob.

Bruce would have been shocked if he didn't understand the longing for contact that came after a suicide attempt. Pietro needed to be close to someone and Bruce would comply because he'd be damned if he allowed Pietro to continue in this state alone.

"Don't want to fight…" Pietro whispered suddenly in a small voice. "Don't make me… I don't want to fight anymore…"

Bruce shut his eyes, reaching up to run his fingers through Pietro's hair. "Don't say that, Pietro… Please, don't talk like that. It'll be okay."

Pietro sobbed against his shoulder, his breathing trembling unsteadily. Bruce held him close at a loss of what else to do.

"It's going to be okay, Pietro," he murmured gently. "I promise you, it'll be okay. It doesn't seem like it now and I know you're in a bad place at the moment but it does get better…" Bruce threaded his fingers through Pietro's hair, smoothing white strands back out of his face. "Nothing can hurt you here."

* * *

 **A/N- Really, really sorry about the delays recently- exams ugghhh... But now I've finished forever! Happiness spurs my writing so updates will probably be quite a bit faster unless I decide to get a social life :)**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks again for every single review, favourite or follow, I really appreciate it.**


	26. Chapter 26

"Okay, let's try this out."

Pietro glanced to Owen as he fixed the see-through pouch to the drip, swapping out the morphine for this new substance.

Although Pietro wasn't aware of the science behind it, it seemed that Harper had been working on a morphine-substitute. According to him it would work better on Pietro's unique system as it was harder to become immune to and wouldn't make him nearly as tired as the morphine did.

Owen hadn't judged him. That was what was important to Pietro.

The doctor hadn't chastised or even asked him about his attempted suicide. Every so often Pietro would catch him staring at him with something soft and understanding etched into his irises and, although Pietro was by no means fond of that look, it was a lot better than Bruce or Clint openly questioning him.

The others weren't here now. Tony had demanded that Bruce meet him in the lab because ' _where the hell have you been man_ ' over the comms didn't exactly cover it. Clint was still away- sleeping, Pietro hoped. The archer didn't get nearly enough sleep these days.

"The effects should hit you pretty quickly." Owen explained, breaking into Pietro's thoughts as he attached the new drug to the cannula in the back of Pietro's hand. "Tell me how it feels."

In all honesty, the first thing Pietro felt was a throbbing ache against his temples, mere seconds into the drug, and he raised a hand to clutch at his forehead. "My head hurts..."

"Okay.." Owen murmured. "Okay, sorry, the dosage is probably just too high; give me a minute."

There was a faint beeping and, although it took a couple of minutes, Pietro's headache subsided. Owen was watching him curiously.

"Better?"

Pietro nodded, lowering his hand. "Better." Owen smiled and Pietro almost laughed at how excited he seemed. "You're enjoying drugging me?"

"Oh.. No, sorry, I just.." Owen shrugged. "I just like different, I guess."

"Different?"

Owen smiled again- he did that a lot when he wasn't worried, Pietro noticed. "People with enhanced abilities, such as yourself and the others like Captain Rogers."

"Oh, mutations, right?" Pietro joked. "You like testing us out?"

"I find enhanced people fascinating actually." Owen admitted, checking the drug supply. "The way your metabolism works, how your body adapts to drugs so quickly. I love working to meet the individual criteria of each person. Your metabolism is much higher than even the Captain's, so I could devise a more sensitive drug from this supply to meets his body's needs."

"Really love your job, huh?" Pietro commented lightly.

"I do indeed."

Pietro chuckled. "Married to your work like the rest of us sorry bastards.."

Owen laughed. "I suppose so, although..." He trailed off and Pietro glanced up to see that the back of his neck was a little pink. He was blushing?

"Go on." Pietro encouraged, shifting himself back against the pillows to get a little comfier.

Owen smiled bashfully. "There's this one guy... He works in IT up on the bridge."

"Office romance." Pietro sighed dramatically. "No wonder you bury yourself in work."

"Yeah, I guess I don't see him as often as I'd like..." Owen shook his head faintly, cleared his throat. "Anyway, that's probably enough about my love life. Let's go back to you. You are the patient after all."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've been a patient since the battle, what else is new?"

"I still have to check, you know the drill." Owen was quiet for a moment, sitting on the edge of Pietro's bed. "I'm going to ask you something now … I'm afraid that you might not want to answer but it could really help me with assessing your medical and mental state."

Pietro frowned. "Right...?"

Owen took a deep breath. "The drug you took..."

Pietro glanced away, immediately upset.

"I'm sorry, Pietro. I have to ask." Owen murmured, clearly picking up on his uneasiness. "You keep saying things that wouldn't make sense unless you'd experienced it. Things about drugs and I just-"

"Please, stop." Pietro mumbled.

Owen narrowed his eyes pityingly. "I'm sorry."

Pietro closed his eyes briefly. "I was forced into drug abuse as a child... People used to give me money to test drugs on me and I was drawn into addiction… I had to, for Wanda, we didn't have anything and we were living on the streets, starving…" His voice trailed off and he glanced to the side, lowering his voice to a mumble. "That's all I want to say."

Owen's eyes were wide and shocked and he gently gripped a hand to Pietro's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Pietro shrugged slightly, trying to go for colloquial and failing miserably. Owen's eyes narrowed sympathetically. "Are you okay to keep going?"

Pietro nodded. "I'm fine. Ask whatever you need."

Owen stood and walked around to the counter on the other side, taking a pen and scrawling something down on his clipboard. "I have to survey how the drug's holding out."

Pietro shifted himself down, letting his head back and shutting his eyes. "Fire away."

"How's your pain levels? One to ten, one being none."

"Maybe two?" Pietro murmured, ignoring a small click that resounded in his ears. It was probably either his imagination, or the pen. "It just aches a little bit."

"Okay.." Owen jotted down the number. "Any side effects? Headaches or dizziness?"

There was the quietest footstep against the ground. "No, I'm okay..."

Pietro frowned as the steps grew louder, glancing up but it was too late. Zaine was too fast.

"Owen!"

Harper didn't even have time to react, let alone turn around. Zaine brought an empty, glass bottle down on the back of Owen's head, the transparent object shattering on impact and sending Owen collapsing to the ground with a grounded thump. Pietro scrambled out of bed, wincing a little, glass crackling beneath him as he fell to his knees beside the doctor, grasping his shoulder and shaking desperately.

"Owen.. Owen!"

"Leave him," Zaine growled.

Pietro glared up at him. "What the hell are you doing? You could have killed him!" He turned back to the doctor. "Owen?" Pietro shook him again, voice breaking in desperation when he didn't get a response. "Owen!"

Blood trickled across the floor.

There was a click and Pietro looked up to find himself staring straight down the barrel of a gun. Zaine pressed it to his forehead, grasping the collar of his t-shirt and hauling Pietro to his feet. He was so close that Pietro could smell the alcohol oozing from him in waves.

"I don't give a shit if he's dead, okay?" Zaine hissed harshly. "You are out of line. Barton knows everything, damnit."

"He doesn't know-"

Pietro's voice was cut off as Zaine smacked the gun across his cheek, hard, leaving his skin glowing with pain.

"You don't speak." Zaine whispered, his voice deadly quiet. "You don't speak unless you want a bullet in your mouth, do you understand?"

Pietro swallowed. "But Owen-"

Zaine jammed the gun between Pietro's teeth, pushing it to the back of his throat. "I told you. I don't care if he's dead... And I said 'don't speak'. I fucking told you not to speak."

Pietro decided then and there that Zaine had completely lost it. This man before him was absolutely insane and there was no telling what he'd do next. Attacking Owen had been reckless, proof that Zaine had no regard for secrecy anymore.

The tiniest thing could break Zaine into pulling the trigger, so Pietro remained silent, meeting his eyes until the agent eased the gun from his mouth.

"See?" Zaine chuckled suddenly. "See how easy it can be if you just shut your damned mouth?"

Pietro didn't respond, lowering his eyes submissively. He had almost forgotten how degrading and dehumanising Zaine made him feel. This was a forced submission and it made him feel horrible, his chest tight and sore, his breathing shaky and struggling.

Zaine gripped his arm, dragging him across the room and out of the door. Pietro allowed himself to be pulled down the corridor, panicked and fearful, as he knew Zane was on his last resort. He was so unstable now, with zero regard for any of his previous worries about keeping secrets or working on keeping Pietro alive and in fear.

Zaine could do anything and Pietro was powerless to stop him.

* * *

To say that Clint and Steve were unprepared was an understatement.

Upon pushing the door open, Clint expected to find Pietro resting up in bed, Owen tending to his injuries. He'd recruited Steve to give the kid a talk, because if the damn leader of this team couldn't get Pietro to tell the truth, he had run out of ideas.

Pietro's bed was empty. That was the first thing he noticed.

Eyes trailed down the abandoned blankets, Clint found his gaze set on a body. Owen Harper… Of course it had to be him.

Owen's short, blonde hair was soaked with crimson blood. He was on his side, sprawled on the ground with his back to the door. Sparkling glass scattered the ground like snow caught in the sunlight, the shards spilt across the white floor.

"Owen!" Steve exclaimed, immediately rushing to the doctor and kneeling beside him. He took Owen's jaw, gently turning his head. "Doctor Harper, can you hear me? Owen?"

Clint followed him swiftly, getting to one knee next to Steve. "Is he okay?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, checking for life signs. "His breathing is steady," he replied, glancing up to Clint. He hand moved to Owen's blood-soaked hair, touching it gently. "Blow to the head... He must've been hit with some force." He frowned suddenly, concerned. "Hey, you don't suppose..."

"No," Clint muttered. "No, Pietro didn't do this.. He'd have no cause to attack Owen."

Steve gazed at Clint a moment, regarding him, before sliding a hand beneath Owen's head, carefully checking for shatters of glass in the wound. The doctor stirred, letting out a faintly irritated groan and his eyes fluttered open.

"Owen?" Steve checked anxiously. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I... don't know," Owen murmured, allowing Steve to help him sit up, a hand clutched to his forehead. "I... I don't..."

Short of patience, Clint gripped Owen's shoulder. "Who did this? Where did they take Pietro?"

"Someone hit me," Owen mumbled, clearly confused, rubbing his forehead. "Hit me from behind... I didn't see them..." His eyes widened, panicked. "Pietro.. Where's Pietro?"

"That's what I hoped you'd tell us."

Owen shut his eyes briefly, as if struggling to remember. "He.. tried to warn me... It happened too fast, I couldn't see..."

"Owen, look at me." Steve ordered, gently taking the sides of Owen's jaw, inspecting his eyes. "Can you see okay?" Owen's eyes kept drifting and Steve clicked in front of his face. "Owen, concentrate, how's your eyesight?"

"I..." Owen blinked hard. "Blurry... I can't... I can't remember... I.."

Steve shook his head. "No, it's okay. Calm down.. I think you've got a concussion." He helped the doctor to his feet. "I'm going to take you to Helen, alright? She'll fix you up just fine." He turned to Clint. "You need to start looking for Pietro, I'll be with you as soon as I've got Owen sorted."

Clint nodded and set off for the door. Rage was building with every step. Attacking Owen to get to Pietro was just sick on so many levels. Owen was a doctor, a healer with little combat training, and knocking him unconscious from behind was so cowardly that Clint could barely process what kind of person thought that was acceptable.

Slamming the door open, he instinctively turned left, the direction to the training rooms.

"Clint!"

He glanced back, finding Steve just appearing out of the hospital room, supporting Owen with an arm around the doctor's waist. The soldier nodded to him.

"Be careful."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N- Short chapter, sorry. Really tired.**

* * *

Clint was running by the time he reached the training rooms.

He had broken into a full sprint almost as soon as he'd parted from the Captain, terror and fury alight in his mind. If this was Pietro's mentor… If this was agent Dyson, Clint would never forgive himself. He'd left Pietro alone with him, he'd let them train together. If this was Zaine, he'd had thousands of opportunities to abuse Pietro.

His breathing came out in bursting gasps as he rounded the corner and Clint threw open the door to the first room on the left. The sight he was greeted with was enough to make his body freeze up, his breath catching in his throat.

Crimson stained the floor. Pietro lay coughing in a pool of his own blood, the liquid spilling from his mouth, leaking from the cuts slashed over his back and pouring from the rips in his shirt. His entire body shivered feebly as he weakly coughed streams of blood onto the ground.

Sure enough, in correlation with Clint's suspicions, Zaine stood beside him, a blade in his hand. Dark eyes locked with Clint's own. The agent seemed shocked at first, but that brief emotion striking his eyes quickly melted into acceptance and fierce hatred. The target of his hatred was now uncertain.

The archer started forward but Dyson was quicker, snatching a pistol from his holster and aiming it at Pietro, clicking the safety off. He fired once, the bullet ricocheting off the floor beside Pietro, causing him to flinch and curl inwards and brought Clint to halt.

Zaine grasped a handful of Pietro's hair, forcing him up onto his knees and pressing the gun to the side of his head.

"One more step and I'll send a bullet through his skull."

Clint gritted his teeth, his eyes still fixed on Pietro.

He couldn't even tell if the kid was conscious anymore. His head hung limply in Zaine's grip; his eyes shut but his chest was still moving, still rising and falling with each faint breath. Blood dripped steadily from his parted lips.

"Why?" Clint asked, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. "Why are you doing this? You're a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, what grudge could you have against him?"

Agent Dyson's lips curled into a cruel sneer. "It was revenge... at first.. Then I began to enjoy it more and more. It became a hobby.. sport."

Clint's jaw clenched, rage almost blinding him. "Revenge for what?"

Anger flashed through Zaine's dark irises. "You really don't remember me...? I was there, that day.. While you were busy being a hero, my comrades died around me. Shot down by those metal bastards trying to protect the civilians you had sworn to defend! Maybe I decided to do something about it. Maybe I decided to push aside Fury's order and try to save your goddamn life! And what did I get for it? I got punished. I was degraded. All because this son of a bitch-" He violently jolted the gun at Pietro's head. "-got to you first!"

"The battle in Sokovia..." Clint muttered, realisation hitting him suddenly. "You were there after Pietro fell.." Then his eyes narrowed in confusion. "Fury punished you?"

"He took my membership down." Zaine muttered, his eyes full of rage. "I was respected! I was good.. And then this piece of shit-" He jerked Pietro's head up, so his face was angled towards the ceiling. "- came and ruined it. I've been in S.H.I.E.L.D for twelve years and this filth worked for the organisation that has murdered more of my friends than I could count! But five seconds of his miserable life and he was more important- _special_." He spat the word.

"Clint?" Steve's voice sounded from behind him and a second later the soldier rushed in, his eyes wide as he halted beside Clint. "Dyson...?" He took an angry step forward. "What's going-"

"Whoa, back up-" Zaine warned, moving to jab the gun to the underside of Pietro's chin. "Move back or I swear I'll kill him."

Steve took a concerned step back, standing rigid beside Clint. Zaine moved the gun, tapping it to Pietro's cheekbone.

"Wake up kid, look who's here."

Pietro's eyes opened a fraction, blinking away the blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. His cloudy irises rested on Steve, flickering over to Clint before he shut them again, a slightly irritated, breathless groan exhaling from his bloodied lips.

Zaine smiled. Clint felt slightly sick at the knowledge that he was enjoying this; enjoying inflicting suffering upon the young avenger. How long had he been enjoying this for? All those injuries Pietro had passed off as inflicted by his own mistakes… It was all Zaine.

Every time Clint had left them alone together. Every training session, this had been happening. It was more than that, however, it was Pietro's attempts on taking his own life. His suicidal attitude must have been provoked by Zaine's treatment of him, proving that it wasn't only physical, but psychological damage the agent had been practicing.

Clint's fury was paramount.

Then a lot of things happened at once but Clint's only concern was Pietro. Zaine moved the gun to the side, obviously about to draw out a long-winded monologue about his efforts and trials. But Steve, ever surprising, had other ideas. In a flash, he had whipped a dagger from its hiding place in his boot and sent it spinning towards Dyson.

A scream of pain split the air.

The knife had struck the hand holding the gun, and he dropped it in shock, his other hand releasing Pietro at the same time. Clint leapt to Pietro while Steve tackled Zaine, knocking the agent to the floor.

Clint dropped into a skid, catching Pietro as he fell, holding the kid in his lap as Pietro struggled weakly, obviously unsure of what was happening.

"No.." He muttered under his breath, thrashing and fighting against Clint's grip. "No, no, not again.. please not again.. no more.."

"Kid, it's me, it's me." Clint soothed urgently, noticing Pietro's struggling decrease a little. "It's me, it's Clint. You're gonna be alright, I'm gonna get you somewhere safe. I'm going to keep you safe."

Pietro's fluttering eyes set on Clint's. His eyes were glazed, seeming to hardly see the archer. He blinked hard, squinting up at Clint. He seemed confused and that was enough to break the archer a little; it was as if he didn't understand what was happening. Clint didn't understand the odd stab of hurt hitting his chest when a hint of realisation met Pietro's eyes.

"Clint...?"

His voice was so weak.. so young.

Clint smiled kindly, struggling to hide his emotions. "Yeah, kid.. Yeah, it's me. You're okay now, we're gonna make you better."

Pietro gazed at him briefly, irises unfocused. Narrow lips parted, as if he was about to speak, but he simply heaved a soft sigh, his eyes closing. His head rolled to the side as he slipped out of consciousness.


End file.
